Archive of Our Own ^beta

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• Eddie knows his name today.

• Eddie knows Dustin’s name today too.

• Remembers Steve’s name… last name.

• Eddie doesn’t know his age.

• Eddie does know his age (20).

• Eddie doesn’t know his birthday.
• But Eddie does remember it’s in the winter (has a memory of seeing leafless trees from an early childhood birthday party).
• Eddie remembers his uncle’s name.
• Eddie doesn’t remember which street he lives on.
• Eddie has a headache (that’s not a memory thing - he’s just told Steve a thousand times now).

• Eddie doesn’t remember he has a sense of humor.

• Eddie doesn’t remember Steve ignoring him in high school for four years.

• Okay… Eddie does remember he has a sense of humor (just a teensy bit).

• Eddie definitely remembers how to be Stubborn with a capital ‘S’

• Eddie remembers that he likes Kung Pao Chicken.

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• Eddie remembers how to be dramatic. Theatrics must be in his bloodstream or some shit.

• Eddie remembers how to tell jokes again. Mean jokes. (tbd on the rest of his humor though)

• Still remembers his own last name.

• Eddie knows his birthday.

Memory Log: Day 3

• Eddie still remembers Steve’s name.

• Eddie remembers Steve’s yellow sweater he wore last Tuesday!? That seems impressive.
• Eddie knows who the fuck PETA is (Steve makes a mental note to tell Robin about that one cause holy shit)
• Eddie is making snort-worthy jokes today. (Are they still at Steve’s expense? Hell yeah, but who the fuck cares? There’s goddamn chunks of memory in his cynical comedy.)

• Eddie doesn’t remember redecorating the hospital bed with his chewed up food.

• He remembers he strongly dislikes Steve Harrington, that’s for damn sure.
• But… he still remembers Steve’s name so that’s a plus.
• And wait -

• Eddie remembers flunking Senior year.

• Eddie doesn’t remember Steve's least vomit-inducing yellow sweater.

Memory Log: Day 5

• He must remember that Steve never calls him by his first name.

• Eddie remembers his dice/children (and what they’re called)
• Eddie remembers Grease? (Of all the movies Steve thought this guy would reference… Grease? Is it the leather? Hm.)

• Eddie remembers how to use his snarky tone of voice.
• Eddie remembers how to make his eyebrows dance around on his face.
• Eddie remembers *Dungeons and Dragons*

• Eddie remembers how to blush.

• Eddie remembers how to feel flustered as all fuck.

• Eddie remembers Steve's sweater again.

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• Oh yeah… Eddie remembers Beowulf

• Eddie remembers zero fucking percent about their monster battles (and it’s probably best to keep it that way while he’s still recovering).

Memory Log: Day 35

• If Eddie’s pain levels are bad, so are his memories.

• Eddie doesn’t remember Beowulf.

• Okay. Fuck. Eddie remembers inside jokes. That seems like a big fucking deal.

• Eddie doesn’t remember…

• Phew. Eddie does remember his band.

• Eddie remembers how to be a pain in the ass.

Memory Log: Day 38

• Still remembers Steve is a Hometown Slut (of all the things that would stick to his brain… why that?)

• Eddie remembers Beowulf again.

• Eddie remembers Steve’s favorite breakfast food.
• Eddie remembers Steve wearing khakis on previous Mondays.
• Eddie remembers Steve’s Memory Fucked inside joke.
• Eddie remembers a shit ton about Steve.
• Eddie remembers.

• Eddie notices Steve’s ass…

• Eddie can hum the theme songs to all of the shitty soap operas (even on bad days).

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Memory Log: Day 52

After seeing his ink-smeared biography all over Eddie Munson’s arm, Steve becomes extremely motivated. Obsessed, even.

He assembles a makeshift army. Eddie’s Memory Soldiers, he calls it. Okay - he doesn’t call it that out loud, only to himself (because even Steve is self-aware enough to know how deranged this all sounds).

Steve compiles a ragtag group of Eddie’s friends to nudge his brain along faster. Band mates, theater dweebs, potheads that can carry a tune. All of them bring mixtapes on their visits. After two weekends, there’s already a fuckload of thrashy melodies for Eddie to choose from.

He lets them take the reins on this music-healing plan because there’s no fucking way Steve will be helpful in that department. It means less visits that include his presence, which sort of sucks, but it’s worth it. Worth it to get Eddie back to where he used to be.

Before Steve heads out for one of his morning visits, Robin interrogates him. Asks him the question he’s been ignoring for weeks.

“Steve… not to sound harsh, but why do you care so much?” 

Yeah. Why does he care so much? 

She quickly follows it up with, “I just didn’t know you two were friends now. So I’m just curious, I guess.”

They’re not friends. They’re lukewarm tolerators - tethered together by monster hunting and Dustin Henderson.

They’ve flirted, sure. But who doesn’t? Steve would flirt with half of the leggy cartoon characters that appear on Saturday Mornings if he could. So that’s a weak argument to assume they’re more than just friends. Tolerators. Whatever.

So he lies. To Robin. To himself. Lies so much that it sits in his stomach like motion sickness.

He answers the exact same way he’s been answering since day one:

“I’m just doing this for the kids, Robs.”

He’s pretty sure neither of them are buying that statement. He tries again. Stamps the words onto his confused brain. Considers writing them on his arm just like Eddie might do.

“I’m doing it for them.”

Eddie is always on his Walkman (Steve’s Walkman) now that he has skyscraper of cassettes on his desk. Pretty much every time Steve returns, Eddie is head banging. Won’t stop until the nurses scold him.

Or Steve. He’ll stop if Steve scolds him too.

“You can’t keep jostling up your brain, Munson.” Steve whips the headphones off of Eddie’s ears. “Gonna undo all of our hard work.”

“Our hard work?” Eddie attempts to grab the headphones back. Gives up as soon as their hands make contact. “And who might be included in this our that you speak of?”

“You know…” Me. “The doctors and nurses and your friends.”

“Right.”

This is how things have been going lately. Eddie teases him mercilessly and Steve bats it all away. Doesn’t encourage it for a second.

Which blows so hard because he wants to flirt back. Steve wants to know what Eddie feels like beyond tubes and bandages and hospital gowns. He wants way too much after watching Eddie fall asleep smiling that night. After finding out that Eddie scams his own mind into remembering Steve in technicolor details every day.

But it feels wrong. Deep down, there’s this part of Steve that worries that Eddie only likes the scribbled notes, the good qualities of himself. The non-prickster qualities.

He doesn’t scribble the bad qualities on his arm. Eddie lets himself forget about those every night. 

So it seems wrong. Unfair to let Eddie only remember the good parts of him and take advantage of his weak mind.

Life was a fucking breeze before Steve cared about not taking advantage of people. Shit, he used the world’s biggest advantage-taker before all of this evil wizard nonsense.

“Quiz me, Harrington.” Eddie insists.

So Steve does. Steve goes down the list of questions. Things that Eddie’s memory typically hesitates to recognize. 

• Music helps Eddie remember his childhood memories the best.

That’s the biggest discovery they’ve made over the last fourteen days. Tapes that include songs from the early to mid 70’s have the biggest mental impact on his memory skills. Every day, he recalls more moments from his past.

Winter birthday parties. Recess and tire swings. Nineteen chickenpox. A pet hamster named Sterling.

“Can’t believe Wayne trusted you with a living creature.” Steve sneers.

“Never said he did.”

He always gets fuzzy with stuff from the late 70s though. And the early 80s is just a jumbled-up shit show. That’s when Eddie really starts failing his quiz.

“What year did you get the tattoo on your chest?”

“You mean this one?” Eddie pulls down the wrinkly hospital gown, exposing way too much of his collarbone. “Or this one?” He pulls the fabric down even further.

They must’ve finally turned the heat on in this place. Or maybe Steve’s sweater is just extra itchy, scratching his skin all splotchy red. He rubs furiously at the collar, spreads the flush all over by accident. 

His eyes dart up to the fluorescent lights. Away from Eddie’s chest. “Um… the… creepy guy.”

“You’ll sprain your neck looking up like that.”

“Good thing I’m in a hospital then.”

“Okay - seriously, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure.” Eddie snorts. His heart monitor beeps faster. Steve hates that laughing must be a bit painful for him. “And he’s not some creepy guy. He’s a creepy demon. Please respect the body art and get your facts right.”

“Fine.”

Not flirting back makes Steve feel like he could break out into hives. He has a fucking stockpile of pickup lines. He hoards provocative catchphrases like a horny pack rat. Talking is becoming increasingly difficult when he can’t banter back the way he wants to.

“Don’t remember what year I got it.” Eddie admits. “Sorry.”

Steve pulls his focus away from the ceiling and scribbles that down:

• Eddie still can’t remember when he got his tattoos.

“Gee mister,” Eddie imitates a very masculine Shirley Temple voice. “Am I failing the pop quiz already?”

• Eddie remembers who Shirley Temple is (weird, but okay).
• Eddie does a really shitty impression of Shirley Temple.

Steve just keeps writing. Not even writing words anymore, just moving the pen to stay focused. Stay distracted from flirting.

The energy starts to feel swampy and stiff as he continues to give short responses with lifeless enthusiasm. Steve can tell that Eddie is picking up on the weirdness too. 

He’s so fidgety. Drumming his fingers, twisting the one ring he’s allowed to wear on one of his less busted fingers. Bobbing his knees and kicking off his blankets. 

Eventually, Eddie puts his (Steve’s) headphones back on and closes his eyes. A nonverbal surrender. A borrowed Walkman instead of a white flag. Why does it feel so shitty to see that he is just as defeated as Steve?

Once Eddie is asleep, Steve peaks over at his arms.

The notes are still there. Fading, but there.

It shouldn’t jab him in the heart the way that it does every time he checks, but christ. It’s so fucked up.

Slowly but surely, Eddie is gaining pieces of his past, but never his present. Why the fuck is that? Steve is so selfishly pissed about that because he’s a main role in Eddie’s present life. 

He’s the one that’s here most days. He’s the one that listens to Eddie’s rants and incessant complaints. He’s the one that calls the nurses when Eddie is too prideful to admit when he’s in pain.

Steve should be remembered without smudgey reminders and foggy recollections.

Steve should be un-fucking-forgettable.

After an unhealthy amount of moping, he comes up with an idea. Well, Dustin comes up with an idea, actually. Steve bribed him with nougat and R-rated movie rentals to construct a gameplan.

“And you need Eddie to remember your favorite sweater…why?” Dustin’s mouth is full of chewy candy as he asks.

Steve chucks a raisinette at his dumb hat. “I thought we agreed this was a no questions asked request.”

“You suggested that.” Dustin points at Steve. “I never agreed to it though.”

This is the part Steve despises. If he admits it to others, he has to admit it to himself. And while he’s come a long way since that first day with Eddie, he’s not there yet. His pride can only take so much vulnerability before it fractures completely. “Just… I’m testing a theory I have on his newest memories.”

“Right. And what theory would that be?”

That he thinks about me in kissable ways. “That he remembers more than he gives himself credit for.”

Dustin chugs back his soda and scrunches the can in his grasp. “Okay. Well, the mixtape theory is working decently well with older memories, right?

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“So maybe it can work with newer memories too.”

Steve is lost already. “Meaning?”

“Find songs that relate to you.” Dustin shrugs like duh. He must sense Steve’s hesitation, so he sputters back into his brainy explanation. “Think about it: you’re there all the time -”

“Not all the time, but -”

“Shut the hell up. You’re there all the time, so he must remember the essence of Steve Harrington.”

Steve fake gags. “Don’t say essence, that’s fucking gross.”

“Will you stop interrupting? Jesus christ.” Dustin yells, scrunching the soda can even more with his irritation. “Just make a mixtape with stuff that relates to you. Get his current memories to stick with lyrics and shit.”

Steve twists his mouth to one side. Then the other. “That’s…”

“Genius?”

“I was gonna say worth a shot, but sure.” Steve agrees. “We’ll go with your conceited analysis.”

Dustin finally picks up the raisinette from earlier. Throws it back at Steve. “You should be nicer to me. I possibly just solved your dilemma.”

“I should be nicer to you?” Steve tosses the raisinette into his mouth, despite its questionable duration on the floor. “Dude, you’re never nice to me.”

“Yeah, but it’s affectionate hostility.”

“And that makes it better?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Fine.” Steve rolls eyes, offers a hand to Dustin. “Thank you for the hostile affection.”

Dustin accepts the handshake. He’s overly smug about it too. “You’re very welcome.”

Day 53:

Right away, Steve determines it’s a Kathy Day. Eddie is a verbal nightmare already, whining about the dead batteries in his tv remote.

“I’ll get Sam to grab some batteries when her shift starts.” Steve reassures the bitchy entity possessing Eddie Munson’s body at the moment.

“Why don’t you just get the damn batteries?” Eddie bites back. “You have legs, don’t you?”

“You have eyes, don’t you? Of course, I have fucking legs.” Steve can play it this game. Doesn’t want to but he can be just as obnoxious if Eddie keeps going with his attitude. “Please don’t pull this Kathy shit today.”

That simultaneously shuts them both up for a while. Steve begins flipping through one of the outdated magazines on Eddie’s desk, avoiding the escalated atmosphere. At this rate, there’s no fucking way Steve is going to bring up his mixtape. Kathy/Eddie will probably smash it. Roll over it with the wheels on his imprisoning hospital bed.

Eddie clears his throat, speaking softer than he did at Steve’s arrival. “You know… you were sort of a Kathy yourself yesterday.”

• Eddie remembers Steve’s weird mood from the day before (needs to check Eddie’s arm notes to make sure he didn’t write that down).

“Yeah well… I’m allowed to be the pissy one sometimes.” Steve doesn’t look up. He just keeps pretending to read the fossilized magazine in his hand.

“Whatever you say, Harrington.” There’s another pause. Just as awkward as the last one. Their dynamics today are clashing harder than their music styles. Eddie breaks through the awkwardness once again. “So… what’s on the brain agenda today?”

• Eddie remembers their pop quizzes.

Right. The quiz. The quiz that Steve has no intention of administering today because he’s supposed to give Eddie this stupid mixtape. 

And look, Steve is pretty good at avoiding shit - homework and phone calls and extended family members. He’s good at dodging shit too, like the relentless one-night stands that can never seem to take a goddamn hint.

But this situation is different because Steve would clearly like to avoid the potential weirdness of giving Eddie Munson a gift. However, he’s innately aware that this particular gift could be helpful. Maybe more to himself than to Eddie, but who knows? If Eddie gets his memory tank back on track and Steve gets someone that reciprocates his affections? 

The payoff might be worth the weirdness.

“I actually wanted to contribute to your…” Steve gestures apathetically at the stack of tapes.

Eddie looks over at them and then back to Steve. “Oh you mean, Munsonopolis?”

“Boooo.” Steve heckles him immediately for that.

“You think of something better then.”

Steve thinks about this way too hard. “The Ed-pire State Building.”

“Boooo.” Eddie imitates Steve’s heckling.

“Better than yours.”

“Says who?”

“Says anyone with a sense of humor.”

“Brave of you to call that a sense of humor.”

“What can I say?” Steve clicks his mouth twice and does the most douchey finger-gun bit, blowing out the nonexistent smoke from each index finger. “I’m something else.”

Eddie bites down over his lip, hard enough that it goes white for a second. Doesn’t take his eyes off of Steve while he bares down.

“You sure are, Steve.”

Oh shit - did they just mindlessly segue onto Flirtation Boulevard without even trying? Is it really that natural with Eddie? Damnit, Steve needs to get his mind on the task at hand.

“Here.” He walks over, lays the tape on Eddie’s lap.

“Is this another one from Gareth?” Eddie flips the tape over, studies the back. “Cause I already assured him that I remember the concert we went to back in ‘84.”

• Eddie remembers one of his closest friends.

“No, this one is actually…” Just fucking own up, Steve. “Well, I made it.”

Eddie’s eyes do that sequin thing again. Almost turn into disco balls. “You made me a mixtape?”

Ugh. “Don’t get too flattered, Munson.” 

“Too late.”

Steve was afraid that might be the case. So he does his damndest to channel Dustin Henderson. Provide a scientific explanation to his crush-driven theory. “It’s just an extension of our little music experiment. Some stuff that will help you remember me.”

“And why exactly do you want me to remember you?” Eddie does the same lip biting thing from before. He bites harder, and the color stays white even longer this time.

Steve involuntarily glances down at Eddie’s arm, giving himself away.

“Oh.” Eddie stops biting his lip, swiftly lifts the blankets over his arms. Hiding what Steve already knows is there. “Look… that’s just -”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, really.”

Eddie looks down, nodding in agreement. “Right. But it’s not-”

“Eddie.” Steve places a firm hand on Eddie’s shoulder because he can’t. He can’t listen to whatever Eddie is about to confirm or deny. “It’s okay. I mean it.”

He’s not ready for it, for whatever barricade that’s between them to come crashing down. Steve didn’t bring the proper tools to shield himself from raw emotions or desperate declarations of true feelings. And from the way Eddie goes breathless and tense under Steve’s shoulder-grip, he doesn’t think Eddie has the proper tools for that either.

“So you uh…” Eddie peers down at Steve’s hand. Catches a glimpse then abruptly looks away again. “Do you want me to listen now or…”

God no. Steve releases his grip at that thought. “Wait till I leave.” 

“Got it.”

The rest of the visit goes both fairly smoothly. There are only a few lingering particles of awkward tension left behind. It doesn’t bother Steve, not necessarily. The whole day has been kind of all over the place, just like Eddie’s Literary Behavioral Scale. So this uneasy atmosphere is to be expected.

They talk about movies while Steve packs up his things to leave. Eddie asks about all the new movies that have come out since he’s been in the hospital. Steve tells him to make a list of the ones he’s interested in seeing. Tells him that they’ll have a marathon at his place once they’re released to vhs. Eddie says he knows a guy that sells bootlegs before the vhs release date, but Steve shoots that idea down so fucking fast.

It’s not their usual banter, but that’s okay. At least they're talking. Getting along. Tolerating one another at a lukewarm temperature again.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve is met with the most anxiety-ridden face. Eddie’s whole forehead is covered in wrinkles, like that one fancy dog breed that his next-door neighbor used to have. There’s no shimmer in Eddie’s eyes, no disco balls. It’s all just dull. Fearful.

“Sorry if the arm thing made you...” Eddie trips over his words. He pinches the skin between his eyes, makes his even more forehead wrinkles. “I don’t know what’s the word I’m looking for.. Uncomfortable, I guess.”

“Don’t worry. It didn’t.” It made Steve a lot of other things: gutted, determined, confused, sulky, smitten. But no. Worried did not make Steve’s grocery list of Feelings.

“Don’t forget to tell Sam about the batteries on your way out.”

• Eddie remembers bitching about the batteries.

Yeah, Steve’s memory isn’t the faulty one here. Even so, Steve reassures him:

“I won’t forget, Eds.”

Day 56:

Wayne had a couple days off from work and took over Steve’s Wednesday and Thursday shifts in the hospital. It’s probably for the best - especially since Steve decided to do the most high school shit ever, and gift Eddie a fucking bouquet in the form of radio hits and plastic.

He’s breaking out from the stress, just marinating on what Eddie’s thoughts might be of the mixtape. It can’t be good. None of the songs are his typical riffs of eternal damnation or whatever. But it certainly sounds like Steve Harrington in a Speaker. So it better help him picture Steve dressed in the tackiest, most burnable sweaters imaginable, goddamnit.

But like, why is he breaking out from thinking about Eddie Munson? Absurd. All of it. The feelings and the acne. His weird little crush is making him regress into adolescent woes and it’s pissing him off.

After popping the zit and crossing his fingers that it’s not outrageously noticeable, Steve sucks in a deep breath, and heads into Eddie’s hospital room.

“There’s my favorite Material Girl.” Eddie lowers the headphones, smiles bonus-level wide.

Steve’s gulps. His face feels like a fucking toaster. “I take it you listened to the tape?”

“I didn’t just listen to the tape.” Eddie picks up the Walkman and smacks it against the side of his head. “I practically absorbed that bubblegum bullshit. Think some of it is still stuck in my teeth.”

Steve plays along, hoping that his face will return to its usual complexion. “You should see a dentist about that.”

“With what insurance?”

“That’s fair.” Steve slides his hands into his jean pockets. He’s so rigid. “So?”

“So?”

“Final conclusion?”

“Oh, I hated it.” Eddie says bluntly. “In a very stick-that-syringe-in-my-neck kind of way.”

“Shocker.” Steve actually expected a meaner response than that.

“Why did you put so many songs on there that use Girl in the title?”

“Hey - it’s not my fault that all of the rich poster child songs are about women.” Steve gets defensive about that one. Honestly, it’s true. There needs to be more music about wealthy guys with genetically flawless hair. Somebody needs to get on that shit so Steve can have more songs that apply to him.

“Whatever you say, man.” 

“So did it…” Steve is still standing. Hovering a bit. “Did it help?”

Eddie sticks out both of his arms, flipping to reveal his forearms to Steve.

They’re blank, besides the usual tattoos and contusions. They’re as blank as Eddie’s arms can be at the moment. No more Steve Cheat Sheet to be found.

Steve exhales all of his relief. “And you remember me?”

“Remembering you was never the problem, Steve.”

“It wasn’t?”

Eddie shakes his head. “But if I ever allowed myself to forget, I…” He taps rapidly over the Walkman. Steve’s Walkman. “I just didn’t wanna risk starting over.”

“Oh.”

“With you.”

The metaphorical arrow, the one Steve has alway seen on department store Valentines Day cards, goes straight through his chest. Eddie aims the words with you directly for Steve’s heart. Punctures that wall he built up after Nancy Wheeler.

The monitor connected to Eddie is beeping faster again. It’s not like that day Eddie was writhing in pain. No, it’s a different tempo.

It sounds like his nerves are conducting the pattern. He’s nervous. Steve is making him nervous.

Or Steve’s lack of response is making him nervous.

But how does Steve respond? Is this Eddie giving him permission to flirt back again? To keep driving down the detour of attraction, take the scenic route?

Eddie’s heart monitor is screaming, ‘say something, Steve.’

But Steve’s archive of failed relationships is screaming, back, ‘don’t fuck this up, dickhead.’

Steve tries to meet the two in the middle. Say something inviting yet keep it simple.

“So… do you wanna make fun of the shitty soap operas together?” 

Steve puts a little emphasis on the together part, hoping it’ll tame the monitor. Make the tones evenly paced. He lets his hand tap once against Eddie’s arm. Right over his newly blank wrist. So clean. No more scribbles.

“I don’t know, I’ll have to check my schedule.” Eddie teases with his words, sure. But his hand lifts up. Tapping Steve back. Twice. “I’m a very busy man, you see.”

Steve shoves him away, laughing as he does it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re not wrong.”

His monitor is ballad again.

One of Eddie’s (many) doctors walks into the room during their third hour of mocking the Home Shopping Network. Eddie has developed an elaborate backstory that they’re all cyborgs who are taking civilian money to grow their army of killer robots. Steve is surprisingly on board with this theory after the second hour. Some red headed lady twitches her eyes way too much to be human.

The doctor runs a few tests, looks over Eddie’s chart, the typical procedure. However, at the end of the visit, he decides to put Eddie on a new medication for his headaches. 

Headaches…

Steve flips back to that first day he started visiting Eddie. Finds the note he passive-aggressively took back then:

• Eddie has a headache (that’s not a memory thing - he’s just told Steve a thousand times now).

He fans through the other pages as well. At least two-thirds of them mention Eddie complaining about headaches. How did Steve miss this? How could he be so stupid? He was too busy fantasizing about Eddie’s chest tattoos and making shitty mixtapes, that he glossed over something so significant.

Dustin wouldn’t have missed this. Robin wouldn’t have missed this. Nancy definitely wouldn’t have missed this - hell, she would’ve already cracked the Case of the Missing Memories by now. 

Steve is the wrong man for this job. Not enough brainpower to fix a broken brain.

“Uh oh.” Eddie says. “Where you’d go, Harrington?”

Steve glances up to see Eddie pointing his finger at Steve’s head. “Just.. thinking.”

“Share with the class, please.”

Steve struggles to make his voice sound causal about this. “I should’ve known about the headaches. Paid better attention.”

“Are you joking?” Eddie asks. “Because if you are, we need to work on your delivery.”

“Not joking, no.”

Eddie’s tone is mildly annoyed, still gentle though. “Stevie… that guy gets paid a shitload of money to figure out my problems. Truly - the reason there’s no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is because it’s going straight into that guy’s pocket.”

Steve snorts. It’s even funnier to visualize because the doctor is kind of short.

“What I’m saying is, it’s his job to have a big brain.” Eddie’s eye contact is sharp. Broken bottle to his neck sharp. “And your job is to be my eye candy. Sit there and look cute while I try to not hack up my dinner.”

Steve’s hearing went crackly at all of the compliments. “Eye candy, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

Steve no longer has an excuse not to flirt back. Eddie has his mixtape; his arms are bare. He’s obviously encouraging it, even with the knowledge that Steve is a spoiled brat. He likes Steve, not just the good stuff. Eddie is still willing to pursue this even with Steve’s bad qualities.

So fuck it. Steve is gonna delve into his stockpile of pickup lines. He’s gonna rummage around his hoard of provocative catchprashes. Be the horny pack rat that he was born to be.

“Is the sitting part of my job description mandatory?” Steve leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“Oh, I’m very lenient on that detail.” Eddie’s voice drops lower. “The cute part… not so much.”

“So you’re only keeping me around for what? My great hair? My symmetrical bone structure? My biceps, maybe?”

“Definitely not your humility, that’s for damn sure.”

They share a smile as Steve gets up, inches closer to Eddie’s bed. He reaches out and pinches the sleeve of Eddie’s hospital gown between his fingers. He cautiously rubs it over a few times, waiting to see Eddie’s reaction to this droplet of affection.

Eddie catches Steve’s wrist with his other hand. Mirrors the rubbing motion Steve set in place with the material.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Steve nudges Eddie lightly. “Is this okay?”

And before he can even get a response back, Eddie’s face starts turning grayish-green. 

This happens. Eddie throws up biweekly, so it’s not a big deal at all. It’s just that Steve is usually not laying on the moves when Eddie is about to blow chunks. Honestly, it knocks Steve’s astronomical ego down a few notches.

He probably deserves it.

Eddie is really sick. He pukes three more times, and he starts running a fever after the second time. He’s all clammy and curled into a pillow, clutching it with shaky fingers.

It’s all side effects from the new medication apparently. Yeah, Eddie’s head is no longer splitting open, but his body is rejecting all of the cardboard hospital food.

Steve keeps an eye on him, not that he can do much about it. He gets a styrofoam cup of ice chips so Eddie can chew on it whenever his temperature spikes. He wipes the sweat off Eddie’s temples because one - it’s a nice gesture, and two - it gives him an excuse to be nearby.

The shivering is driving Steve crazy though. He’s so on edge just watching Eddie like this. Eddie keeps making jokes like ‘at least I’ll remember your stupid worried face in the morning’ or ‘damn, my past better be worth all of this.’ And Steve will chuckle halfheartedly each time.

The heart monitor is all jumpy now. Even, uneven, even, uneven. If Steve focuses on it for too long, it starts to sound like he’s driving by a highway collision. A pileup of beeps and tones.

He gets another cup of cafeteria coffee. Hopes the bitterness and chalky creamer will be enough to muffle his hearing. Steer his mind to an empty exit lane.

“What? No coffee for me?” Eddie is under an extra blanket now.

Steve scoots his chair even closer to Eddie’s bedside. “What’s the point? You’d just puke it all up.” He’s pretty lousy at supportive words, isn’t he?

“Aren’t visiting hours almost over?”

“You trying to get rid of me, Munson?”

“Never. Just figured you needed to catch the bus or whatever.”

• Eddie remembers Steve taking the bus.

“Robin finally gave me my car back.” Steve conveniently leaves out how he demanded  for it to be returned to him. “So, I’ll stay until they kick me out… if that’s cool with you.”

He places his non-coffee holding hand over top of Eddie’s open palm. It’s sort of instinctual. Doesn’t give his mind a moment to wonder if this is crossing a line. 

Holding hands in a hospital doesn’t mean romance. It never has. People do it all time, no one bats an eye at them either. It’s just a gesture of helpless support. It’s what people do to signify, ‘I can’t heal you with medicine, but I can warm your under-circulated skin just a little.’

But when Eddie’s fingers curl around his own, Steve’s stomach swells like its romance. It swells with hot air, helium maybe. It swells and stays swollen. Stays thermal and full.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to pay my eye candy overtime.” Eddie’s face rushes all pinkish-red. Almost as if he’s trying to combat his blush with humor, but it’s not working. He’s all the colors now. And with or without them, he’s attractive.

“You don’t pay me at all.”

“You got me there.” Eddie shakes a frizzy curl in front of his cheek. A poor effort to hide his flushed face. “I’m a terrible employer.”

Steve traces the grooves of Eddie’s palm lines. Pretends that they form a railroad track. “The worst.”

Once his fever finally breaks, Eddie falls asleep. His body unfolds, his fingers uncurl. It’s a heavy sleep, one that makes him all languid and soft. Any traces of bones are questionable now.

And even though Steve is about to pass out from exhaustion, he doesn’t move his hand from Eddie’s. He’d rather give up his whole arm than move it.

Sam peaks in just before Steve nods off. She lets in the bright hallway light, not too much though. Not enough to wake Eddie. Honestly, not a lot of things wake Eddie up these days.

“Sorry.” Steve yawns. “I overstayed my welcome.”

She shrugs, checks the fluids in one of Eddie’s IV bags. “You know, you can stay the night, if you’d like.”

“Really?”

“It’s pretty late… you shouldn’t be driving on the highway at this time of night.”

“Won’t I…” Steve reworks the phrase. Tries to be less selfish about it. “Won’t you get in trouble for letting me stay?”

“Oh no.” She winks. “Because I never saw you here.”

Steve smirks. “Got it.”

“But if I did see you here,” She gestures her head to the door on her right. “I would tell you there’s extra pillows in the linen closet over there.”

Sam deserves a fucking raise. Steve would become a goddamn patron of this hospital just to give her more money. Let the godsend of a woman retire early for christ’s sake.

“Thanks, Sam.” Steve whispers.

“Thank you for keeping him company.” She whispers back. “He’s lucky to have someone like you.”

Steve doesn’t know if that’s true, if Eddie is lucky to have him, but he nods anyway. Gives a gentle wave as Sam heads back out of the room.

He sets the pillow next to Eddie’s leg, keeping their hands connected as he dozes off. Steve falls asleep the same way he used to fall asleep in class. All bent over in his chair, one cheek flattened out on the desk. It’s very reminiscent of that.

Only better because he’s with the guy that makes his chest swell, even when he’s being sarcastic or melodramatic. Even when he’s cobwebbed himself into a maze of cords. Even when he’s bitching about batteries and Steve’s vomit-inducing fashion sense.

Steve thinks maybe he likes the undesirable traits of Eddie Munson just as much as the desirable ones.

And once he’s knocked out entirely, the rhythm of his heart matches the beeping monitor hooked up to Eddie’s chest.

Day 57:

It’s been a long time since Steve has had a decent dream. And this dream he’s in right now? It’s fucking luxurious.

He’s at the hair salon, because of course he is - it’s his home away from home. 

His head is reclining back in that giant sink thing. The one that’s like a soup bowl for hair or whatever. The stylist is shampooing his scalp, scrubbing all of those foamy products into his roots. This is Steve’s favorite part of getting his hair done, he always feels blissed out of his mind afterward.

They keep washing it for the whole dream, digging their nails into his head, dunking water over his hair every so often. It’s downright perfection. A dream he could stay stuck in forever. 

The scenery of the dream flickers out, but the sensations linger as he gains consciousness. He squints both of his eyes open, immediately greeted by too much brightness, too much sunlight. Steve shuts them again, soaking up the remnants of his dream. The hair scratching that’s ongoing even though he’s awake.

Awake.

Steve is awake and can still feel all of that salon paradise. His brain finally wakes up enough to realize it isn’t a dream. It’s Eddie’s hands in his hair, combing it thoroughly.

Fuck, it feels so good too. Steve wonders if Eddie is aware of what he’s doing or if he’s also in that suspended place between awake and asleep.

It doesn’t matter, not really. It all feels way too incredible to care about the logistics. Steve nuzzles deeper into the pillow to hide the happy little hums that keep escaping through his mouth. 

Eddie doesn’t stop. He keeps moving his hand around. Twirling strands and releasing them. Ruffling strands and smoothing them. Massaging the pads of his fingers in all the right places. Every bit of it is dreamy. Better than the dream Steve initially believed to be unbeatable.

Being Eddie’s own personal petting zoo is way better. Miles, light years better. Is there any form of measurement longer than lightyears? Because it’s bigger and better than that too.

Eddie tugs a little harder, just once, but once is all it takes to make Steve melt. He open-mouth sighs into the pillow, hoping the fabric mutes the neediness of it. There’s drool on the pillow and it’s unclear if it’s from when he was asleep or if it occurred just from that one hair tug. 

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice still sounds coated in sleep. “Is this weird?”

Steve shakes his head no, still unable to lift his face from the pillow.

“Should I stop?”

Steve shakes his head much faster. Absolutely not. Stopping should be banished from Eddie’s vocabulary. The word ‘stop’ should be homeless as far as Steve is concerned.

Eddie tugs again, more firmly this time. The tug goes straight to Steve’s dick, which yikes. Humiliating. Yeah, it’s morning and this shit happens, but not this kind of boner. Not one brought on by hair salon fantasies and a metalhead with magical fingertips. This can’t be the reality of Steve’s life right now but somehow, it is.

“I think I combed through all of that cake-up hairspray.” Eddie talks as his hand continues to roam around Steve’s scalp. “Feels like cashmere now, so you’re welcome.”

Steve sighs again, pretty sure it’s much more audible this time because Eddie laughs.

“Embarrassing.” Steve mumbles. That’s all he can muster out without becoming a puddle of humiliation.

“The sounds you’re making?”

Steve nods.

“Oh that is not the adjective I would’ve gone with.” Eddie claws his fingers all the way down to Steve’s neck. “Not even close.”

Steve is all hormones now, all slurred speech and thoughtless words. “So good, Eddie.”

“Oh my god.” Eddie whines, sounds breathier than Steve. “You cannot say my name like that when I’m in a tissue-thin gown.”

Steve wants to sneak a peek, see if what Eddie is suggesting holds any truth. He resists, only because he’s trying to sort out his own tent-pitching problems at the moment.

He gradually lifts his head off of the pillow, back cracking as he straightens his spine out after hours of being shaped like fucking tetris piece. It’s the last thing he wants to do because it means Eddie has to take his hand out of Steve’s hair. But as Eddie pulls away, his knuckles brush against Steve’s ear, awakening this newfound urgency to not let this moment fizzle out.

Steve hops up onto the bed, sitting side-saddle next to Eddie. He looks through Eddie’s eyes, the ones that remind him of shimmery dresses and the backseat of his car on prom night. He looks through to find a reason to stop his actions. Stop his need to touch Eddie’s jawline or thumb over his lips. He’s searching for a reason to stop and finding none whatsoever.

“Do you remember me?”

“You’re Steve Harrington.” Eddie kind of stutters as he says it. “Hometown Slut extraordinaire.”

• The nerdy bastard is never going to let that one go.

Steve gives a quiet laugh, leaning in to his impulses. He slides his thumb over Eddie’s bottom lip, curving around, mapping invisible outlines. A blueprint for his imagination when they’re apart later. “Am I reading this wrong?”

Eddie’s gaze is glued to Steve’s lips as he shakes his head no.

“Good.”

Steve uses his free hand to lift himself up, get closer. Breathing in the same stale oxygen, sucking up the same early morning courage, existing in the same dizzying climate.

He can feel Eddie exhale softly over his skin when there’s a knock at the door.

Steve has never stood up so fast in his damn life. Gets a head rush that’s so overwhelming that his vision speckles out momentarily. 

It’s Sam. Thank god it’s only Sam. But also, screw god for interrupting what almost happened just now. Not cool, sky man.

“Just a heads up,” she starts, shutting the door behind her. “You have another visitor that just arrived.”

Right. It's the weekend.

Steve and Eddie say it in unison. “Dustin.”

Sam hums in reply. “I can stall him for a couple minutes. Give you time to sneak out the stairs that are tucked in the back hallway.”

“You’re the best.” Steve says. “I’ll be quick.”

She leaves, cracking the door on her way out.

Both of them just look at each other for a moment. There’s no time to even discuss the events that just took place. No time to recover the kiss that is already sneaking out the back hallway stairs.

Steve nervously whistles. “So…”

“I’ll see you Monday?”

“Monday.” 48 hours apart seems insane. “Yeah.”

Steve hurriedly makes his way to the door - refusing his horny impulses the opportunity to kick back in and ruin everything. “See you later, Eds.”

Eddie licks over his bottom lip - the one Steve mapped out with his thumbprint. “Later, sailor.”

Um. What?

Steve’s eyes go large. “What did you just call me?”

“Go.” Eddie flashes the wickedest grin. “We’ll talk all about your ocean of flavor on Monday.”

This can’t be happening. “Ocean of -”

“Get out of here already!”

Steve flings himself out of the room, sprinting down the hall. Does Eddie actually recall Steve working at Starcourt? How can that be possible? Steve doesn’t remember seeing Eddie outside of school ever. 

Plus, they’ve never even talked about his job at Scoops Ahoy. Family Video? Sure, that’s more recent. But Scoops? Steve tries to forget just about everything from his time at that seaside shithole.

Goddamnit, this is confusing. The hair foreplay. The almost-kiss. The nautical nickname. Confusing is an understatement. Steve needs to go back to high school and learn a better word for what this is. Confusing isn’t cutting it anymore.

If Steve can make it till Monday without spiraling into a bucket of nerves, he deserves a fucking trophy.

And a kiss on the lips.

Mostly the second option (although a trophy would be nice too). 

Chapter Text

Memory Log Day 59:

Steve spends an obnoxious amount of time in front of the mirror. This isn’t breaking news. If he were in that fairytale with the evil witch and her Mirror Disciple, the mirror would be so sick of Steve’s vanity by now.

The surprising part is that Steve has been in front of the mirror since five in the morning. He couldn’t sleep, his mind is one channel full of reruns. And unfortunately, people don’t have a fucking remote control to turn off their brains, so he’s just stuck reliving Saturday morning over and over again.

Here he is. Just staring blankly at his reflection. Yawning. The reflection yawns back. Flipping his hair to one side, thinking about Eddie. Flipping his hair to the other side, thinking about Eddie. Spraying the flyaways down, thinking about Eddie. Steve has to splash his face with water so much that he’s going to show up to the hospital looking like a shriveled-up sponge.

He’s nearly satisfied with how it’s shaping up when Steve is smacked with a thought. A rewind in his rerun. A loop.

It’s Eddie’s voice, that scratchy morning one that made Steve’s toes curl up in his sneakers. All he can hear now is that voice repeating the same syrupy sentence:

‘Feels like cashmere now…’

Steve listens to the phrase till his knees start to wobble. He reaches up into his hair, just to experience what Eddie experienced that day. Instead, all Steve feels is hardened strands. All of it holding a sticky residue. Not soft at all. And definitely not cashmere. 

Before the loop can start over for the umpteenth time, Steve strips off his meticulously planned outfit and hops into the shower. The water bursts out, directly onto Steve’s nearly satisfactory styling job. It breaks his pride more than his heart, washing all his hard work away so easily.

Steve never really goes out in public with unstyled hair anymore. Not after the time in eighth grade when Hailey Barnes got gum stuck in his hair mid-make out. Steve had to cut it the shortest it had ever been in his whole life. Led to a full blown Samson storyline for the rest of the school year. He still dated, sure - but barely any second dates.

Steve shakes off his biblical trauma and blow-dries for a good fifteen minutes. Look, if he can’t style it, he can at least dry it out. He’s not a complete heathen for christ’s sake. 

It’s weird, staring back at an unstyled Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. But this might earn him more scalp massages. Potential kisses. Potential memories. So if Eddie wants cashmere, Steve’s gonna fucking give it to him.

He’s probably gonna be late for visiting hours, but he’s hopeful that Eddie will forgive him once he gets his vein-busted hands into Steve’s hair. Driving over the speed limit is not exactly necessary and certainly not legal, but fuck it all. Fuck it all with the windows down.

It’s a gross habit, but Steve starts chewing on his nail as soon as he reaches the door to Eddie’s room. He’s gotta kick these nerves in the ass, pull his charisma out with a rope or some shit. 

There’s no reason to be nervous, not after Eddie verified that Steve was reading the situation correctly. That should be confirmation enough to make Steve stop his nasty nail-biting and boost his enthusiasm to max volume.

So that’s exactly what he does. Steve swings the door open, pointing directly towards Eddie upon arrival. “You have some serious explaining to do, Munson.”

“Quite the entrance you got there.” Okay. Less enthusiasm than Steve, for sure. Not even half-volume enthusiasm.

“I mean, just leaving me hanging like that?” Steve lightly smacks Eddie’s shoulder.  “You really are the worst eye candy employer of all time.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow as he nods along. “Sure…”

The enthusiasm is dialing down to fucking mute. At this rate, Steve will have to skip the sly banter, go straight for the obvious. His dignity would be damaged if he weren’t so wired.

“Oh come on!” Steve shoves Eddie’s shoulder a bit harder this time. “You’re not gonna say anything about my hair?” Steve runs his hands through it, movie slow-motion style. Then he shakes it out, flounces the ends. Anything for some sign of life at the moment.

“It’s… different.”

No shit, it’s different. It’s certifiable fluff right now. Sort of like angel food cake without the icing. 

Steve has to shift gears yet again. Maybe the straightforward path is too basic for Eddie’s liking. Maybe he prefers the smooth lines. Steve can do smooth. Smooth is his fucking specialty.

“Free cashmere doesn’t come around like this everyday.” Steve sits next to Eddie on the bed, messing around with his heart monitor cord. “So touch it all you want, Eds.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Eddie’s face goes siren red. He scoots away from where Steve is sitting and laughs somewhat nervously. “Was it drugs? Did you finally raid my lunchbox?” 

“No. No drugs. Just…” Happy to see you. A little wounded that you’re not as happy to see me. But still… happiness overall.  “A rare good mood, I guess.”

“I’ll say.” Eddie scoffs. "You are mighty chipper today.”

“Well, yeah.” Steve gets off the bed. He’s clearly making Eddie uncomfortable and he doesn’t know why. His energy is the same as it was Saturday morning. A little heightened, sure, but Eddie thrives off intense shit. Well, he usually does. “I mean, considering what almost happened Saturday.”

Eddie holds up both hands. “Wait. Time out. Saturday?” 

“Yeah.”

“This Saturday?”

“Yeah.”

“You were here on the weekend?”

No. No, this can’t be happening. This is Eddie scribbling Steve-related notes on his arm all over again. The trap door in Steve’s stomach drops, all of his insides feel like they’re plunging down to his feet. The blush that had settled in Steve’s face, is now being whipped around, right up to his forehead. He feels sick. He feels a migraine forming. He feels fucking robbed.

“Please. Please tell you didn’t forget.” Steve’s voice is small.

Eddie doesn’t respond immediately, just studies the grim expression on Steve’s whole face. “I need you to be specific with what you’re talking about, Steve.”

“Do you remember Friday?”

Eddie looks up at the ceiling as if his memories are stored somewhere up high. “You came over. We talked about your mixtape. Bubblegum shit. See a dentist. No insurance, yada yada.”

So far, so good.

“We watched the Home Shopping Network for four hours.”

Three, but Steve lets that one slide. Probably felt like four hours.

“The doctors gave me new medicine for… something, I don’t know.”

“That part is important.”

“Yeah well, you try being on more medications than you can count on your hands.” Eddie barks back.  “See how many ridiculously long latin names you can remember.”

Look. Steve is a patient person - hasn’t always been that way, but the unexplainable circumstances over the last three years has Miyagi’d the shit out of his patience levels.

Five days a week, Steve sits here. Patiently dealing with whatever unpredictable mood Eddie is going through that day. Five days a week for almost three months. Steve doesn’t wanna sit here and do the math because he knows it’ll be depressing numbers. So many days, hours, minutes, that he spends being the Patient Guy.

But with Eddie snapping while Steve is trying to process how such an amazing moment can simply vanish like a demented magic trick? No. Steve is no longer proficient in the art of Patience.

“You know I didn’t mean that…” Eddie mumbles, fiddles with one of the wires attached to him. Not exactly an apology.

“No please, continue to use me as your emotional punching bag. It’s one of my life’s greatest joys.” Steve leans against the wall, all casual and relaxed. But his words bite just as hard as Eddie’s did. The way he looks and sounds are total contradictions to each other.

Eddie rubs hard over his eyes. “Shit, Steve. I’m being an asshole.”

Fucking christ, that’s still not an apology. “Whatever. Just tell me what you remember after the doctor gave you the medicine.”

Eddie sighs. Looks back up at the ceiling while he talks. “I got really sick…”

“Yeah.”

“You were here.”

“Per usual.”

“But I passed the fuck out once the fever went away.”

“And then…” Steve motions his hand for Eddie to keep going.

“And then?”

Goddamnit. “You don’t remember.”

Eddie stays silent. Searching the whole room now for memories that do not exist. Memories that have expired. Memories that are one-sided.

“You don’t remember any of it.” Steve whispers to himself. 

His impatience gets distorted with all of his feelings for Eddie. Everything is barbed-wire sharp, cutting up his throat. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, the answers are too unfair. The reality is too bleak. Steve doesn’t deal with his own mental hurdles most days - he can’t add new psychological pitfalls to his life.

Steve is holding his forehead, urging the headache to go away with fingertips and delusion. He opens his eyes momentarily to see Eddie staring back. He looks worried. Powerless.

That makes two of them.

“Steve.” Eddie is almost whispering. “Whatever it is… I’m so sorry that I don’t rem -”

“Don’t do that.” Steve interrupts. “Don’t apologize for having head trauma, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright. I won’t.”

Steve crawls through the barbed wire, gets muddy and messy with the truth. “Look, there’s a lot of other shit you should feel sorry for. Like lashing out at me all the time. And never asking how I’m doing with my… life and shit.”

“There’s a vending machine down the hall that you could fill with all the reasons you should feel sorry. Might as well make a fucking profit off of your remorse.” Steve tacks the dark joke on at the end because he can. Because it’s Eddie.

“But your recovery process is not one of things you should ever feel sorry for. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Eddie gulps. Nods. “Okay.”

Steve is standing at the foot of Eddie’s bed, hands gripped around the plastic railings. His knuckles are the same sterile white as the rest of this god awful room. Steve has become a chameleon to this place that somehow manages to feel haunted by more than just lingering mortality.

“I think I’m gonna head out.” Steve says it without even trying really. The words just stumble out.

Eddie’s mouth opens, forming an ‘oh’ in reply, but no sound comes out with it. 

“Yeah this just isn’t… I don’t know.” It’s a lame thing to say but it’s true. Steve has no fucking clue what to do anymore. “I don’t think I can do this today.”

Eddie doesn’t look at him. “Got it.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Steve takes those few painful steps to the door. His limbs feel heavy. Like guilt and confusion are weighing him down.

No words fit this moment. This departure. So Steve throws a few out there in hopes that it’ll be enough:

“Just… hang in there.”

It’s not enough. Not even close. 

“Will do, Harrington.” Eddie still doesn’t look at him.

The door shuts, but Steve thinks he feels it slamming all the way down his spine.

Day 60: 

Steve doesn’t go to the hospital today. 

It’s Tuesday.

Day 61:

Day 62:

Day 63:

Day 64:

Day 65:

Steve hasn’t really talked to anyone since Monday, not even Robin. She called him once on Wednesday to see if he wanted to grab dinner with her and Vickie, but he politely declined. Didn’t even bother fabricating an excuse. Just stuck with good old-fashioned ‘no.’ Why reinvent the wheel with rejection?

He’s in dirty clothes and watching an Andy Griffith marathon, when the phone rings. He almost ignores it - except he needs to get more onion dip from the fridge anyways, and the phone is on the way there. Might as well pick it up.

“Harrington residence.” His voice drones. “Steve speaking.”

“Shit.”

Shit. “Eddie?”

“Yeah. Hey, man.”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you okay?” Apparently, Steve cannot switch off the caring portion of his heart.

“Everything is…” Eddie holds out the ‘s’ sound for a while. “I just needed to apologize.”

“Right.”

“And to thank you.”

Steve lowers his eyebrows. “For what?”

“Being here… when you were.” Eddie’s voice sounds dried up. Like he hasn't spoken much in days. “I know you haven’t been back for a few days, and that’s my own damn fault.”

Most of the behavioral stuff is his fault, yeah. But the icing out bullshit that Steve is pulling is cowardly. He’s not doing anything productive with his free time. He’s deadlocked. Stranded in uncertainty.

Eddie continues. “But for all the days you didn’t give up on me… I guess I didn’t know how much I needed that. So thank you.”

“That’s…” Steve is about to say ‘unnecessary,’ but decides against it. Dismissiveness solves nothing. “You’re welcome.”

“Even when I was being Kathy or Hyde or Grendel or whatever else you managed to come up with behind my back.”

Steve didn’t. He thought up a lot of spiteful shit, but he never said any of it out loud. Okay, maybe some it slipped along the way. He’s not perfect.

“I wouldn’t blame you for never coming back to visit me.” Eddie is talking faster now - which is basically normal Eddie speed. “But if you did… I have something I wanna to give you.”

Steve groans. “Not a mixtape, right?”

“Nah, I’ve tortured you enough with my own vocal ridicule.” Eddie snickers, Steve joins him. “It’s nothing much, but yeah. It’s here if you want it.”

“Okay… yeah. Thanks.”

Steve smiles, very briefly. His mind reminds him far too soon that nothing is fixed. Sure, he’s not pissed off at Eddie. The apology was genuine. Beside, it takes way too much brainpower to hold grudges. 

But Eddie doesn’t remember what Steve will never forget. That’s still very real.

“Hey, Eddie.” Steve checks again. Just to be certain. “You really don’t remember Saturday?”

There’s a pause. “I really am sorry, Steve.” 

Yeah. Sucks just as hard as it did on Monday.

“I know you said not to be sorry for my memory, but I am.”

• Well… Eddie remembers their fight.

“Glad you remember that part.” Steve finds the positive. Even if it tastes bitter, it’s positive-ish. “Thanks for calling, Eds.”

“Thanks for not hanging up.”

“Oh, there was deep contemplation about hanging up.”

Eddie lets out a single snort. “Good. At least you’re consistent.”

“I figured there would be lots of bad karma for hanging up on a dude that’s bed-ridden in a hospital.”

“Undoubtedly bad karma. They’d put you in karma jail for such actions.”

“Glad I decided against it then. I’m way too pretty for karma jail.”

“You’re way too pretty for any iteration of jail, Steve Harrington.”

The conversation becomes a stream of easy jokes and harmless insults. Steve prefers it this way, feelings or no feelings. He likes the relaxed discussions that he can have with Eddie. He likes how Eddie will run wild with a topic, so that he can just listen. He likes that Eddie will gladly shut up if Steve wants to interject.

Steve just likes him. Likes Eddie.

They talk until Eddie takes his nighttime meds, promptly falling asleep. Snoring into the phone speaker. Steve stays on the line a little while longer. Waits until he hears the heart monitor beating out a steady rhythm. 

He hangs up and heads to bed himself. Forgets all about his onion dip and the Andy Griffith marathon.

Day 66:

It’s six in the morning. The sun is gradually hitting the horizon, but Steve is wide awake regardless. He’s a fairly competitive person, but Steve definitely shouldn’t be competing with things like nature, goddamnit.

He picks up the phone, the same one he used last night to talk to Eddie. Swears that it’s still warm from being pressed to his cheek for hours.

He calls Robin. It’s inconsiderate as hell to call this early, but she’s the only one of his friends that might answer at this hour.

Might being the key word. There’s no answer.

Steve sucks in a deep breath. Decides to be extra annoying and calls again.

“Hello?” Thank god it’s not her dad.

“Morning, Buckley.”

“Bye.”

“Wait!”

Robin swears under her breath a few times. “Why? Why must you insist on having the sleep schedule of a farm animal, Steve?”

“Trust me, it’s not by choice.”

“I don’t trust anyone that calls me before noon.” She yawns the last few words of her sentence. “Something must be wrong with you.”

“Nothing’s wrong with me. Nothing you didn’t already know about anyway.” Steve does want to chat and get his mind off of things, but he also needed to hear his friend’s voice. “Just wanted to check in.”

This is what they do now. They have to. No one else is going to check on them because no one else even knows that they literally threw flames at a demonic entity. So they call or show up whenever they can.

They have to.

“I’m hanging in there.” Which is seemingly better than ‘I’m here.’ That phrase is an emotional grenade. “How about you?”

Steve laughs, then sighs. “Obviously sleep is a fuckshow. But yeah. Hanging in there too.”

They shift to lighter subjects. Movies they’re excited to see. Plans to try the new Italian restaurant on Main Street. All the petty town gossip they can think of.

Robin talks about Vickie too. Apparently, they have the same top four favorite novels. She mentions that three times in the same breath, so that must be a pretty big deal. Steve can hear her smiling through every ordinary detail she shares, which makes him happy. He’s glad his best friend has found someone that makes the ordinary shit seem like an adventure.

It selfishly makes him think of Eddie though. How badly he wants to bring him up after every other sentence. How random words remind him of something stupid Eddie said or did.

He’s doing so well with holding back, until Robin asks. She says his name, and Steve fucking shivers at hearing it. Eddie’s name, right in his ear.

“Haven’t seen him in a week…” Steve tries to toss it in there casually, despite how un-casual it is.

“Does that mean his memories are back?”

“Not exactly…”

Robin hums into the speaker, catching on quickly to Steve’s un-casualness. “Well, the coffee is already brewing. Might as well tell me what the fuck happened.”

He goes over everything in random order - whatever hits his mind first. The argument, the spending the night, the arm scribbles, the almost-kiss, the phone call. Steve sounds just like Robin talking about Vickie. Very little breaths and stupidly smiling over all the good parts. 

He doesn’t really elaborate on the fact Eddie is a guy and that he’s attracted to him anyways. There’s so many other complicated factors, that part has seemed secondary since the beginning. And honestly, he’s sort of grateful for that. Steve doesn’t want to overthink this. He just wants to see where this will go.

It’s painfully quiet for a while once he gets through everything, even the weirdly erotic hair-massage bit. He’s starting to think they’ve lost connection when he hears Robin crunch her breakfast. Loudly.

“So…” Steve urges. “What do you think?”

She’s chewing her toast even closer to the phone. “About you being in love with Eddie? It’s weird.”

“I’m not in love with Eddie.” 

“I’m sorry - you just told me that his heart monitor beats to the rhythm of a song while he’s sleeping.”

“Patiently.” It's Steve's favorite Journey song.

“Pop the champagne and prepare the gondola, my friend.” Robin exclaims. “Cause that is love.”

“Whatever.” Steve grumbles. Sort of despises how valid her point is. “Can’t believe he doesn’t remember.”

“It’s not like he’s cherry-picking his memories, dingus. This wasn’t on purpose.”

Steve clings to that fact. Robin is hardly ever wrong and he loves that about her. “Can’t believe he mentioned Scoops… that fucker.”

“Oh I can believe it.”

He holds his breath for a few seconds. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Eddie was there loitering samples as much as baby Sinclair.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Uh.” She sounds totally annoyed with him. “Yes. He was.”

“I think I’d remember seeing a frizzy-haired hyena at Scoops fucking Ahoy, Robin.”

“You’re so wrong about this, my friend.” Robin is giggling now. Steve never knew a giggle could sound so villainous. “Eddie only came to get samples while you were scooping at the back counter.”

“Okay…” Steve says.

“You know… to enjoy the show.”

“It’s too early for this.” He huffs. “Just spell it out for me, Buckley.”

The villainous giggle returns. Might be more evil this time. “Pretty sure the middle-aged divorcees nicknamed it the Below Deck Viewing Party.”

Steve finally gets it.

Oh fuck. “My ass had a fan club?”

“Afraid so.” Robin says. “And Eddie Munson was one of its most loyal admirers.”

Steve feels like running in circles. Doing burpees or jumping jacks. Maybe he’ll just start clapping over this brand new information that’s illuminating the horniest parts of his mind.

“How have you never told me this?” Steve questions, still sizzling with energy.

“And make your big head even more insufferable?” Robing drones. “Ugh. Gag me.”

That checks out. Steve is going to be so intolerable now, especially when he wears those laundry day khakis that Eddie pretends to hate. Maybe Steve should wear them today, just for the hell of it.

They chat until Robin has to head out to work. Neither of them call much attention to the fact that Steve is crushing on a guy, so Steve assumes his brain was right along.

It’s not a big deal. There’s so much more pressing matters at hand - like the fact that his crush doesn’t remember holding his hand all night long.

That’s way more pressing than crushing on dudes.

Eddie isn’t in his hospital bed.

Eddie isn’t in his room at all.

Those realizations clog Steve’s lungs until he feels them caving in. His mind is flooded with the time that Max wasn’t in her hospital room months ago. The time she coded and nobody fucking knew until they were all standing there in a Max-less room.

Steve slumps against the wall, the weight of his lungs and his premonitions are too heavy for him to stand straight. 

He’s about to crouch down, get his blood-flow to restart, when two nurses and Eddie walk through the door. They’re guiding him on either side, although he seems fairly stable on his own.

Steve is so relieved. Almost as relieved as the time Max came back after coding. Almost.

“You’re back.” It’s bordering on a question - the way Eddie says it.

“I got him,” Steve waves off the nurses. He takes Eddie’s left arm and holds it tight. Balancing both of them in entirely separate ways. The nurses thank him and he starts directing Eddie to the side of the bed. “Weird to see you standing again.”

He hasn’t seen Eddie upright since… 

Steve clears his throat. “You definitely look…” Hot. “Taller than I remember.”

While that’s vaguely true, it is definitely not at the forefront of Steve’s mind. He's touching Eddie again, not in a bed and not to detach all his hospital machinery. He’s just touching him, keeping him steady with his arms, and it’s so fucking nice.

They take a few more steps and the sleeves on Eddie’s hospital gown slips off his shoulder. Steve cannot look away. There’s a gray-ish bruise right on top, extending down to Eddie’s shoulder blade. It’s been healing for months and it’s still discolored. Steve is fixated on the shadowy hue, how Eddie’s pale skin almost glows underneath it. 

If Steve’s hands weren’t busy being helpful right now, he’d touch it. Watch the colors ripple under the pad of his finger.

“Well… glad to refresh your memories then.” Eddie tugs the sleeve back up, covering the patchwork skin that Steve couldn’t stop staring at. “But isn’t that your job? To refresh my impoverished frontal lobe?”

Steve redirects his focus. “Impoverished Frontal Lobe would make a good band name.”

“Shit, you’re so right. Dibs.”

“You already have a band, dumbass.”

“True - but every lead guitarist needs a backup band name. Everyone knows that. Fallouts are a disease to the music industry.”

• Eddie remembers he plays guitar. Not accordion.

“You can have Impoverished Frontal Lobe if I can have Hometown Slut.” Steve shrugs to one side.

“Can’t have what’s already yours, Stevie.”

Steve finally releases Eddie’s arm, no reason to still be holding it. No medical reason anyways. He catches himself smiling at the natural return of their banter. Even though Steve left, his attraction to Eddie didn’t budge one goddamn inch.

Picking up the visitation routine is easy. Steve settles into the same well-worn chair, turns on the same daytime tv shows, chews the same minty gum that Sam leaves for him at the check-in desk. It’s all the same. As things should be.

Where Steve is supposed to be.

“It’s good to see you again.” The phrase - Eddie’s words - it all reminds Steve of holding shells up to his ears at the beach. “Sorta got used to you being here.” If Steve listens close enough, there’s an I missed you somewhere inside.

“Same.” There’s an I missed you too inside Steve’s words as well.

“And since your back…” Eddie does a drumroll over his thighs. “I can give you your gift.”

“You didn’t mention on the phone that this was a gift.”

“Thought it was implied.” Eddie bends down, drags a basket out from under his hospital bed. He pushes it over to Steve’s chair. “Here.”

Steve is beaming right away because it’s so tacky and gaudy, all synonyms that relate to Eddie. The basket is painted gold, sort of cracking around the splinters of wood. It’s oversized - much bigger than it needs to be for the items sitting inside of it. The clear plastic around it has a silvery glint and it’s so fucking noisy when he moves it around.

It’s not something Steve would’ve ever picked out to give as a gift. But the whole thing screams Eddie Munson, which makes it perfect.

“Yeah yeah, I know. It’s just one of the baskets from the hospital gift shop.” Eddie gestures broadly around the present, smacking the crinkly plastic a few times. “But I emptied out all of the lousy shit. Even replaced it with all of your vending machine preferences.”

It’s a gentle jab at Steve’s vending machine metaphor from last week. The basket is stacked with Steve’s favorite chips and candy - the ones he still chooses week after week.

• Eddie remembers that Steve loves Utz potato chips and Junior Mints.

There’s a few sodas thrown in there too. The bottom layer is littered with the sugar packets that Steve hoards for his cafeteria coffee breaks.

But underneath all the snacks and sugar and sodas, there’s a card. It says ‘Feel Better Soon’ on the front.

“Oh yeah, that came with the basket.” Eddie flicks at the edge of the card. 

The greeting card hits Steve harder than it should. Eddie has no memory of all the monstrous fuckery Steve has witnessed. So, he can’t even begin to know how much Steve needed that silly little reminder. That Steve needs to get well soon, feel better, hang in there. All of those corny sayings, Steve needs all of them.

“I did write something in it though.”

Steve’s eyes shift up to Eddie. “You did?”

Eddie nods. “Didn’t know if you’d wanna talk to me again after last week.”

• Eddie still remembers Steve storming out on Monday. (It’s the first time Steve wishes Eddie would forget something.)

Steve opens the card, but Eddie leans over to grab it out of his hands.

“Don’t read it here.” Eddie fans himself with the card. His hair wisps around, reminds Steve of a windstorm. “Even the freak is susceptible to the occasional embarrassment, okay?”

Steve gives Eddie a thumbs up and looks back over the items. None of them are expensive or luxurious or anything like. It’s all stuff Eddie could scavenge around for. But all of it is thoughtful. Significant. 

“So… how are the memories?” Steve asks.

Eddie fills him in while they munch on their mountain of goodies. Music is still the strongest remedy. He tells Steve that if finishes physical therapy, he’ll be approved to play his guitar. Both of them are hopeful that will help unlock his past even more.

Steve pokes fun that Eddie always skipped gym class. He bets Eddie twenty bucks that he’ll play hookie at least once.

Eddie says ‘make it fourty.’ They shake hands on it.

They catch up and get stomachaches from all of the artificially sweetened crap they just ingested. Or maybe they just feel sick from laughing at all the stupid infomercials on tv. Whatever it is, they’re both sore and smiling by the end of the day.

“Guess I should head out.” Steve can already see the gears turning in Eddie’s head, wondering if he’ll be back. “Cool if I return to my usual schedule?”

Eddie’s chest falls. His shoulders relax. “As long as it’s not out of pity.”

“I don’t pity you, Eds.” Steve says. “The nurses, however…”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright. You’ve made your point, dickwad.”

Steve can’t bring himself to hold Eddie’s hand, not really sure why. Things have been mended, but maybe not enough. Maybe it’s all still too fresh.

Instead, Steve rubs the material of Eddie’s blanket. He smooths it out between his fingers, imagining that it’s the material of Eddie’s hospital gown.

Steve’s eyes stay on the fabric in his hands. “If you remember anything after you took that new headache medicine… you’ll tell me, right?”

Eddie knocks his knuckles onto Steve’s hand. Steve lets the fabric go. He looks at Eddie, who is happier now. Warmer.

“Definitely.”

“Good.”

Steve doesn’t wait to read Eddie’s letter. He flips open the card as soon as he gets in his car.

The handwriting is pretty terrible, similar to all of Eddie’s arm scribbles. But Steve must’ve developed an overnight supernatural ability to decode Eddie Munson’s illegible penmanship because he can read every word perfectly:

Steve,
The card says ‘Feel Better,’ but that seems insufficient.
Just better? Nah. That doesn’t cover all the bases (look see? I threw in a sports term just for you, champ).
A trust-fund catalog model that spends the majority of his week with a metalhead who has an affinity for nerd shit?
No way. That kind of person deserves so much more than feeling better. 
You deserve to feel worthwhile.
Yours truly,
Eddie/Kathy/Hyde/Grendel/HSN Conspiracy Theorist

ps. Sorry I’m so bad at simple apologies. Everything has to be torturously difficult with me, which you already know.
pps. Well shit. I never even said it properly. 
I’m sorry.

Steve is overwhelmed by all of it. Even Eddie’s little doodles on the back cover are causing him shortness of breath.

It’s a sloppy skyline of mixtape-skyscrapers. The tallest one is directly in the middle. Sprawled across the bottom is the word ‘Munsonopolis,’ and in quotations underneath it says, ‘featuring the Ed-pire State Building.’ There’s an exaggerated amount of arrows pointing at the one in the middle - just in case it wasn’t clear which one is the featured tower.

Not subtle, that one.

Steve is vibrating with energy the whole drive home. Eddie made so many references to past memories in that letter. Some were running jokes, sure. But others? The trust-fund dig? The sports joke? Steve has so many bullet points to add to the binder. So many things to notate. So much fucking progress.

But he doesn’t write down any of it. Instead, he staples the card to the notebook paper labeled ‘Day 66.’ Everything he’s ever needed to know is in that card. That ironically perfect card.

And it the faintest penciling, Steve writes one bullet for himself:

• Robin was right. Definitely think I’m falling for him.

Day 67:

“Apology accepted, by the way.” Steve tosses a jello cup onto Eddie’s table. He snagged one at the cafeteria on his way in - just so Eddie doesn’t wrongfully assume he wanted pudding yet again. 

Is it cheating to give away the answers? Yeah. But Steve is falling for this guy, so he’d buy an entire fucking factory of gelatin if Eddie requested it.

“So you read the card?” Eddie viciously tears open the jello lid. Sniffs it. Weird.

• Eddie remembers writing Steve the letter.

“Read it. Marinated on it. Read it again.” Steve automatically moves the chair close to the bed. Fuck distance. “Maybe I should make deep annotations on my upcoming reread.”

Eddie grumbles. “Is this how it feels when I tease you about jock shit all the time?”

• Eddie remembers their banter. Huh.

“Sure does.” And I’m totally obsessed with it.

“Are you willing to change topics?”

Steve peers over to examine Eddie’s mixtape collection. A sideways grin takes over his face. “Wanna tell me why my mixtape is at the top of the pile over there?”

“Uh…” Eddie whips his head over to the tower. “You know what - the apology card mockery wasn’t so bad after all.”

“Oh really?”

“In fact, I enjoyed it.”

Steve teases Eddie for the rest of their visit, completely unforgiving about it. Payback for two months of this.

He’s pretty sure Eddie likes it more than he does.

Day 68:

Eddie is in and out of the room for physical therapy today. Steve is unfazed by the lack of quality time because any time Eddie does return, Steve gets to help him to his bed. Gets to touch Eddie’s arm, his back. Sometimes his shoulder. 

It’s becoming Steve’s hospital equivalent to the whole, ‘yawn and stretch’ move from all those movie theater dates.

“You don’t have to do this, Steve.” Eddie says it every time. “I can walk eight feet on my own.”

“Just in case…” which directly translates to, I want to do this.

Steve asks the same question at the end of every visit now:

“Call me if you remember.”

And Eddie always assures him that he will.

Day 69:

They are playing cards when Eddie brings it up. “What if I never remember?”

“Remember what?” Steve discards one of his cards to the pile. Grabs a new one from the deck. 

“The thing that makes you all twitchy at the end of every visit.” Eddie does his best twitchy-Steve impression. It’s insulting, at best. “What if it doesn’t come back?”

“It’ll come back.” Steve is so sure of it. Easygoing.

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“How original.”

Steve flips his cards down on the table. He reaches down to the binder that’s an extension of his determination these days, flips through the pages. Pages full of breakthroughs. Even on the lousy days, even when Eddie occasionally backtracks. The pages are still full.

“This is how I know.” Steve holds Eddie’s eye contact after shutting the binder. “I see the progress. It’s not linear, not all the time… but I see it.”

Eddie reaches out. Runs his fingers across the binder, back and forth. Steve stops him the third time, places his hand over Eddie’s. There’s a hitch in Eddie’s breathing when he does it, so Steve slides away, doesn’t linger too long. He listens in to the heart monitor’s cadence for insight on the mood they’ve created.

Not the same as last Saturday. Not the tempo Steve is looking for to take initiative. Not yet.

“I win, by the way.” Eddie announces, flipping his cards over. Smiling that bonus type of smile.

“Damn right you do.”

Day 70:

Eddie is singing one of Steve’s mixtape songs, using his thermometer as a microphone. It’s purposely off-key and he’s implemented some exaggerated accent to it. 

This isn’t the first time he’s done this demented-karaoke routine. In fact, Steve has had to suffer through Eddie butchering pop classics since Day 26 of these hospital visits.

He always does it to get Steve to crack - lose his temper or threaten to leave. Steve usually humors Eddie with one of these reactions because it’s fun. It’s a lighthearted habit that they formed after hard days. Pain infested days.

But this week has been good. Surprisingly adequate. Steve is back and Eddie hasn’t thrown up, not once. He only complained about the flavorless cafeteria food on Tuesday, instead of every other day. That alone is an immediate call for celebration.

So today… Steve doesn’t stomp his foot or swear under his breath. Today Steve claps. Encourages the mediocrity of it all.

“Oh, so you like it when I vocally murder your precious pop tunes?” Eddie laughs. Constantly making himself laugh.

“No, I don’t like it.” Steve folds his arms into his chest. Eddie’s laughter is contagious, Steve catches it as he speaks again. “I like you.”

Eddie’s mouth clamps up. His expression drops. His heart monitor skips two beeps in its pattern.

“Can’t believe I finally found the off-button on you.” Steve glides over to the bed. The upperhand is making him fucking fearless. “Only took me seventy days to find it.”

Steve swipes his thumb under Eddie’s jaw, watching his throat muscles tense at the pressure. Eddie gulps, barely anything goes down. Steve can feel that.

“I…” 

“Don’t tell me what you think I wanna hear.” Steve checks the clock. Visiting hours ended four minutes ago, and he doesn’t need to get himself into another spending the night incident. As much as he enjoyed the wake-up call, Steve fucking despised the aftermath of reality.

“Steve…” The way he says Steve’s name - as if someone took his vocal cords and dipped them in sweetener.

“I gotta go.” Steve reaches down and squeezes Eddie’s hand one more time before releasing it. “Call me if you remember.”

He turns around to leave, but Eddie hooks his finger into Steve’s belt loop, tugs rapidly on it. Steve’s cheeks flush right away, he can’t even hide it.

“What if I call you anyway?” Eddie plays along. “Memory or no memory?”

Steve removes Eddie’s hand. He’s about to set it back down when the last bit of caution is finally thrown out the window. Steve lays a quick kiss on Eddie’s middle finger, the finger that’s most injured. He squeezes his palm once, then returns Eddie’s hand back to him.

“Maybe I’ll call you first, Munson.”

He leaves before getting a good look at Eddie’s reception to the hand kiss. Steve has never kissed another dude’s hand before, and there’s a good possibility that he might’ve been laying the charm on too thick. Smearing it all over the moment like goddamn jelly. 

But the whole thing was just too irresistible. And Fully Flustered Eddie is a rare sight to behold, so Steve had to do something charismatic. His self-discipline hasn’t improved that much since high school.

Eddie ends up calling first. He calls nine minutes after Steve gets home.

Clingy bastard.

“Beat you to it, Harrington.”

“Not everything is competition, you know.”

“Is that so?” Eddie’s sarcasm is heavy. “Huh. Guess you do learn something new every day.”

“Easy for you to say. Your mind still has the training wheels on it.”

“Touché.”

Day 71:

It’s Saturday morning. Steve sleeps in - well, Steve does his version of sleeping in. Which basically means, the sun is fully up by the time he wakes up. Small victories.

His phone and alarm clock go off almost simultaneously. Which one: freaky. And two: annoying.

He walks over to his desk, eyes half-open, and picks up the phone.

“Hello?” Steve’s voice croaks into the speaker.

There’s no response, just a few heavy breaths.

Steve is more alert now. “Who is this?”

“I remember.”

Oh fuck. “Eddie?”

“You told me to call when I remember.” Eddie repeats. “I remember, Steve.”

“Holy shit um… okay.” Steve rubs the last bit of sleep from his eyes. Searches around his room for his keys or clothes or fuck - he really doesn’t know what he’s searching for. 

“You coming to see me or what?”

“It’s Saturday. Henderson comes to see you on Saturdays.”

“Call and tell him to take a raincheck.” Eddie demands. Rightfully excited. “Cause I fucking remember.”

“Okay, okay.”

“I remember!”

Steve is cackling at the excitement. “I fucking heard you!”

“Get your ass over here before I say it again!”

“Alright alright!” Steve hangs up. Never gets ready so fast in his whole damn life. Almost forgets to put on underwear or style his hair.

This is what he’s been waiting for.

Eddie remembers.

It’s the first time Steve feels anxious walking into the room. He’s keenly aware that both of them are in on the secret. No more whispering around the unrequited attraction. Steve is entering a space that is laid bare. No curtains or subtle implications for either of them to hide behind.

As soon as he opens the door, that’s all in the past.

“Oh shit.” Steve isn’t expecting to see Eddie in the chair when he arrives. He’s wearing gray sweatpants under his hospital gown. Steve is pretty thankful for that - not sure the effect that Eddie’s exposed thighs would have on him in this detrimental state.

“Took your seat.” Eddie is all smug. Head to toe smugness.

“I see that.”

“You can take mine, if you want.”

“I’ll pass.”

Eddie winks. “Hope that’s the last time I hear you say that today.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

There’s a stool that the doctors use in the corner of the room. Steve takes a seat on it and rolls over towards Eddie. He stops right in front of Eddie's knees and leans his face in his hand. Tries to downplay his anticipation as much as possible.

“Wanna tell me what you remember?”

Eddie takes a deep breath. He swings his arms out to the side and lets all of his air out in one go. “My tattoos - I remember when I got them.”

Steve’s shoulders drop. Shrink.

The tattoo thing happened several days before the almost-kiss. Day 52.

“Am I wrong?” 

Steve doesn’t really say anything. That’s confirmation enough.

Eddie smacks the top of his head. “Shit, I’m wrong. Made you drive all the way out here to be wrong, jesus christ.”

“Hey, hey.” Steve murmurs, keeps his voice kind. “Not entirely wrong.”

His heart feels likes a crunched-up soda can, but whatever. Yeah, Steve’s hope were set way too high, but he can’t blame Eddie for that. Eddie regained some crucial memories - that should be a good thing. It is a good thing.

“Tell me about the tattoos.” Steve rests his hand over Eddie’s knee. It’s been bouncing incessantly, but stops the second Steve touches him. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and uncover all of it by talking through it.”

“Seems stupid now.”

“Hey.” Steve is stern. “Gaining bits of yourself back is never stupid. That’s your fucking history, goddamnit.”

Steve doesn’t mean to use his coaching voice, but he does. 

It works though. Eddie stares at him for a long time before admitting that Steve is right. He gives a long sigh before continuing. “I know where and when I got all of them.”

“Fantastic.” Steve gets as comfy as he can on this small, metal stool. He flips open the binder, clicks his pen. He flips it into the air - just cause.

“Tell me all about it,” He says, catching the pen with ease.

Eddie starts out pretty deflated. He starts off in chronological order, which Steve is impressed by. Steve even tries to cheer Eddie along any time he recalls specific details like locations and dates. 

The support seems useful. Eddie stops frowning long enough to retell the story about getting a fake ID, just for tattoos. Not for drinking or for getting into clubs. Eddie wanted to be the only sophomore with tattoos.

Steve has never been interested in getting tattoos, there’s nothing he’s ever liked enough to prick needles into his skin. However, he really likes seeing them all over Eddie. All the dark lines and the passionate stories that go with them. 

They take a lunch break and snack break, both of them equally improving Eddie’s crabby mood. Eddie gets sort of winded after talking for too long, so Steve helps him to the bed.

“You don’t have to do this.” Eddie says, sticking to his usual response.

“Thought it was obvious” Steve pulls the cover over Eddie’s arms, fluffs out the sides of his pillows. “I want to.”

“Didn’t know you were such a gentleman.” Eddie observes. “Courting the sickly is a weird move though.”

Steve takes his seat back, moving it next to Eddie’s bed. Always closing more distance than he did the last time. “Good thing you’re not sickly then.”

“Courting the freak is still a weird move.”

“Well, say the word and I’ll lay off.”

Eddie mimes zipping his mouth shut, tossing the invisible key into the trash bin.

“Looks like we’re all done with your tattoo summaries.” Steve glances over the bullet points, folds the binder shut. “Anything else you wanna do?”

He’s waiting for Eddie to take his turn. Steve has been leading the affection for days, so he’s cautious about any further touching. Needs physical permission to continue.

“Actually…” Eddie shakes his head. “We’re not done with my tattoo summaries.”

“We’re not?”

“I have six tattoos, Stevie. Not five.”

That can’t be right. Dustin told Steve all about Eddie’s tattoos weeks ago. This must be Eddie’s mind messing with him.

“My memory isn’t faulty, not this time.” Eddie taps over the binder before yanking it away. “I do have another tattoo, Stevie. You’ve just never seen it.”

This dirty chess game just got way more interesting. 

There’s no point in playing it safe now. Both of them are taking risks, playing offensively. All guards are down, miles away from Indiana.

“Prove it, then.” Steve’s cheeks warm up. He can feel the blood all over, in his ears, in the tip of his nose. “Show me.”

Eddie’s teeth look sharper when he smiles this time. Like Steve’s dare has turned his bones into blades.

“Are you gonna wig out if I lift this stupid gown up?”

Yes. Steve would never admit that, but yeah. Internally, he’s wigging out so fucking hard right now.

“You’ve puked all over me, dude. If I didn’t haul ass after that, I’m not gonna haul ass after seeing your skin.”

Eddie glares at him. “Could’ve just said no, but whatever. Be a smart ass.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Eddie twists onto his side, bunching up the material and settling it under his arms. Right over his rib cage, is the sixth tattoo.

It’s a birdcage, one that’s been mangled. The metal bars are all crooked and the cage door is wide open. One of Eddie’s demobat scars goes diagonally through the body art, like those creatures were the ones to slash it open. Destroying Eddie’s body in a multitude of ways.

Steve wants to touch it, feel the healing claw marks that look so much like his own, but deeper. He hides his own scars every day with sweaters and jackets, so it’s easy to forget how connected they are. How much pain they are forced to wear. Mutated skin and mutilated minds.

One battle with death and darkness has made them more alike than society ever would have.

“Where’s the bird?” Steve finally asks, mainly to stop his hand from reaching over, brushing the black lines and red scars.

“Didn’t have a chance to get it done.”

“No?”

Eddie contorts his face. “I got this part done back in January. And I was planning to get the bird inked up on the opposite side once I graduated…” 

The last word gets all strangled in Eddie’s throat. Steve barely hears it, doesn’t really need to hear it though. He figures it out by the way Eddie’s hands become fists. How he screws his eyes shut, refusing to let the anger fuel his tears.

Steve gets it. Most of his anger turns to sadness these days too. He knows he’s not a weak person, he knows that. But when those two emotions whisk themselves into a twister, Steve feels puny. Pathetic.

He lets his fingers circle the birdcage design on Eddie’s ribs. A cage on top of another cage. He’s pretty sure Eddie did that on purpose - the guy is obsessed with wordplay. Steve makes a spiral shaper over Eddie’s skin, letting the pattern get smaller and smaller as he reaches the center of the design.

Eddie just watches him do it, Steve can feel the stare, the attention. His breathing is shallow, almost stopped. Almost like he’s holding his breath until Steve finishes whatever he’s doing.

“It suits you.” Steve says, moving his palm over to the scar now. Letting the damaged parts of Eddie receive just as much recognition as the tattoo. Eddie didn’t choose to have these markings, but it doesn’t matter. They’re here now. May as well acknowledge them. Engrave them into his history.

“The tattoo?”

Steve looks up. “All of it.”

“Steve.” Eddie tugs on Steve's arm, nails digging in harder than they need to. He almost makes the gesture feel like a question.

Steve answers it. He sits on the edge of the bed and settles one arm over Eddie’s body for support.

This is exactly where they were one week ago. Sharing the same breath, sharing the same tension.

But the resemblance to their sleep-driven moment from last week stops there. They’ve constructed something new, better. There’s anguish from the past and there’s breakable desire for their present. Last week was surreal, dreamy. This week is unrefined.

Steve can’t comprehend why he likes the rawness of today so much more.

“Am I reading this wrong?” Eddie’s hand lifts up to Steve’s cheek, thumb stroking the corner of his lips.

Steve chuckles, whisper-level laughter. “You’re stealing all of my moves here, Munson.”

"What moves?"

"I said the same thing last week."

“Wait.” Eddie’s huge eyes somehow defy science. Get bigger. “That wasn’t a dream?”

“What wasn’t a dream?” 

“That really happened?”

Steve is only half listening. “What are you talking about?”

“Well.. almost happened, I guess I should say.” Eddie is starting to ramble. "The nurses told me that I was having batshit crazy dreams all weekend long. I just assumed there was no way that could've been real."

“Can you please tell me what we’re talking about?”

Eddie is grinning, bouncing in the bed like a spring-loaded toy. “I can’t believe I thought it was a dream this whole fucking week!”

“For the love of god, Munson. Just tell me what happened in this stupid dream!”

Eddie cups Steve’s face and pulls him into a kiss. Kisses the glower right off Steve’s mouth. It only takes a split-second for Steve to react, leaning into it. Steve controls the pace to keep everything soft for Eddie’s sake. Calm hands, smooth lips, slow movements.

There’s a small cut on Eddie’s upper lip, Steve can finally feel it now. He opens his mouth enough to lick over it. Pay extra care to the fragile parts.

Eddie whines a little, his hands dropping to Steve’s collar, dragging him into his chest. Steve lets him, lets the kiss get rougher. Sloppier.

It’s clear that Eddie does not share Steve’s careful approach. He’s so grabby, so possessive. His teeth mash into Steve’s bottom lip. He takes the opportunity to bite and tug, makes Steve yelp. Teeth and kissing is usually a turn off, but god, Steve is obsessed with how Eddie does it. How greedy he is.

Steve dips his mouth in, opens up enough to let Eddie bite and lick as much as he pleases. Be greedy. His free hand is planted on Eddie’s waist, just above his bird cage tattoo. 

“Come here.” Eddie’s breath is warm, tinged with the chocolate they had on their snack break. He’s pulling Steve harder now, never breaking the kiss for long.

Steve scoots another inch, slides his hand all the way up to Eddie’s neck. “If I get any closer, I’ll be on top of you.”

“I know how physics works, Harrington.” 

“Your super-senior status says otherwise.”

“Please, shut up.” Eddie kisses him harder. His skin is extra pink everywhere Steve has pressed against him. For someone that kisses so madly, he looks so soft. Fresh-laundry soft. “Closer, baby.”

Steve sucks all of the air out of the kiss, totally startled by the nickname. He makes a sound, hopefully nothing too whorish or breathy. But Eddie definitely heard it because he’s smiling against Steve’s lips. 

Getting closer isn’t really an option with all of the wires and the unlocked door. So Steve drags his lips under Eddie’s jaw, down his neck. Improvises a way to feel closer, explore deeper.

“Holy shit, you’re good at this.” Eddie hisses, tangling his hands into Steve’s hair. 

Getting compliments on his kissing technique makes Steve preen, has to fight the urge to mark up Eddie’s already bruised neck. Explaining fresh hickies to an army of doctors would not be a pleasant task. So Steve flattens his tongue, runs it diagonally across Eddie’s collarbone. Pecks kisses over all the wet spots.

Eddie’s hands drift down to Steve’s chin, lifting his focus back up. “Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re just…” Eddie’s eyes dart all over Steve’s face. He's breathing hard, his heart monitor and his pulse are at war right now. So many rhythms in their shared space. “You’re very pretty.”

“You think so?”

“The universe thinks so.” Eddie kisses Steve’s cheek - feels like tiny embers over his skin. “I’m just confirming it.”

Steve smiles, takes a minute to catch his breath. He’s finally realizing how little he’s been breathing for the last few minutes. His lungs ache the way they would after swim meets.  Rattled and burning.

"I like you too, by the way." Eddie kisses Steve’s other cheek, makes it even. “Just to clear things up.”

• Eddie remembers Steve spilling his heart out yesterday.

“Consider things clear.” Steve laces their fingers together, under Eddie’s blanket. Each of them staring at the connection, both highly aware it means so much more than helpless support this time.

It means absolutely everything.

Steve’s back in the stupid chair that will never be close enough to Eddie. They lower Eddie’s bed so that Steve can rest his elbow on the side, play with Eddie’s hair just like he did with Steve last week.

He’s infatuated with how different their hair textures feel. Eddie’s hair is all frazzled and knotted. Still soft, but not like Steve’s hair. If Steve’s hair is cashmere, Eddie’s hair is woven wool.

“So you thought last Saturday was a dream, huh?” Steve questions.

“I have some crazy vivid dreams.”

Steve shakes his head. “But all that stuff I said to you. Why did you act so confused?”

“The headache medication knocked me out.” Eddie explains. “I thought you heard me talking in my sleep… saying embarrassing shit and you and your hair.”

“So you thought I was mocking you?”

Eddie hums. Very hushed.

Steve untangles his hand from Eddie’s head and sighs. “You should’ve just told me what you were thinking.”

“I know that now.”

“We could’ve been making out all week.”

“Guess we should make up for lost time then.” Eddie hooks his index finger into Steve’s sweater, tugging him closer. Always tugging.

Steve angles himself to meet Eddie in the middle, kissing him sweetly this time, less urgency. Eddie’s lips are still puffy from Steve sucking on them. He wants to do it all over again, keep them puffed-out and swollen.

The kiss is so slow and so good, that Steve only breaks away when his neck muscles start to tighten up. Too many awkward kissing positions in this hospital room - Steve wants to get Eddie into his car or his bed. The floor might be good too.

“So,” Steve threads their hands back together. “Care to fill me in on your little ‘later, sailor’ comment from last week?”

“You did work at the finest ice cream chain to ever grace Hawkins, did you not?” Eddie retorts.

“Yeah. But of all things, how did you remember that?”

Eddie pokes to the top of Steve’s head with his free hand.

“My hair?”

“Your hairspray or product or whatever you use.” Eddie ruffles it and Steve tries not to become liquid at the touch. “Apparently smells can trigger memories almost instantly.”

“Woah.” Steve makes a mental note on that.

“Very woah.”

“And what about… the club?”

“What club? Hellfire?”

“No, not Hellfire.” Steve playfully pinches the inside of Eddie's palm. “The Below Deck club.”

“Fucking hell, you know about that?” Eddie covers his face. “Somebody please, end my suffering. I can’t go on. Not like this.” 

Steve is cackling now, keeling over in his chair, almost tearing up from how much he’s laughing. And each time Eddie tells him to knock it off, he laughs harder. This is a better ab workout than he’s ever had at the gym, he should just cancel his fucking membership.

“All I’m hearing is that my ass is unforgettable.” Steve wipes a laughter-induced tear from his eye.

“Cruel.” Eddie mumbles into his hands. “This humiliation is cruel.”

Steve flips back onto the bed, yanking Eddie’s wrists away from his face. “It’s hot.”

“Drooling over an ice cream employee is hot?”

“You drooled?”

“Dear god, stop this madness.” Eddie grabs the tv remote and aims it at his face.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to rewind my mouth from saying stupid shit.”

“Eddie, chill out.” Steve takes the remote, hiding it behind his back. “I’m just glad you remember me. Even if my ass is the most memorable feature.”

“These are pretty memorable too.” Eddie smushes Steve’s cheeks, forces his lips to pucker out.

“Oh yeah?”

“And these.” Eddie squeezes Steve’s biceps. Steve rolls his eyes and wraps Eddie’s arms around him. 

They fall back into a long kiss. Visiting hours are about to end, and Sam is off on the weekends. No one is here to let Steve stay the night. So he kisses Eddie like time isn’t a factor. Steve kisses him slow and nice. Eats up any sugary sounds that leave Eddie’s mouth. Whispers how crazy he is about him any time they come up for air.

“I wish you could stay.”

Steve’s heart rips around the edges hearing Eddie say that. Christ, he wants to stay too. So fucking badly. Wants to stock up on chapstick and water so they can make out all night.

“Maybe I can come back tomorrow?” Steve suggests. “Give your bandmates the day off?”

Eddie nods, nuzzles into the crook of Steve’s neck. “Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“What if I forget about this?”

Steve hugs Eddie tighter. “Don’t say that.”

“It could happen.” Eddie peers up at him. “Fuck, I don’t want it to happen, but it could.”

“Hey hey, stop it.” Steve clicks their foreheads together and closes his eyes.

He can’t lie. He can’t tell Eddie that forgetting is impossible. But Steve can keep his eyes closed and savor every minute of today. He can hold Eddie’s kiss-warm cheeks and just hope that everything will be okay tomorrow.

Steve opens his eyes. He sees the Hawkins senior-class ring on his hand, and it gives him an idea.

“Here.” Steve plucks the ring off of his left index finger. He leans over and places it in Eddie’s drawer, right next to his dice collection. “If you remember what happened tonight, you’ll know where that ring is. Put it on tomorrow, so I can visually know that you didn’t forget. So I know it’s okay to come in here and kiss you stupid some more.”

"Like this?" Eddie kisses Steve noisily and they laugh, ignoring the shitty alternative for just a minute longer.

“And if I come in and you don’t have it on… well, I’ll be on my best behavior.” Steve gets up from the bed, crosses his fingers over his heart. “No surprise make out sessions or lewd comments, I swear.”

“You’ll be okay with that?”

That’s a tricky question, Steve doesn’t have a ‘yes or no’ answer to it. He’ll be disappointed, that’s undeniable. But he’s so far into this with Eddie. The notes and the recovery and the feelings. Everything is netted together. Steve couldn’t separate it even if he tried.

“I meant what I said yesterday. I like you, Eds.” Steve puts on a brave smile. 

“So yeah. If you forget, then it’ll be a pleasure to restart with you.”

Steve swipes Eddie’s bangs to the side so that he can give him a kiss right in the center of his forehead. Kissing the place where all of Eddie’s memories are tucked away, even the lost ones. Wishing and aching for the memories of tonight to lock into that place, stay safe and secure. 

Just stay.

Don’t get lost in there.

Please.

Chapter Text

Memory Log Day 72:

Of course Steve is being realistic about this, he has no other choice. That’s not true - he has infinite choices, which is the shitty yet amazing part about being a human with freewill.

But he’s thoroughly convinced himself that he only has one choice: be cynically realistic. Pragmatic. Steve actually picked up a goddamn dictionary to figure out his feelings, and that’s the closest word he could find.

He’s gotta be pragmatic about Eddie’s memories. If he’s not, he’ll fucking dissolve into broken shards of hopefulness like last time. It'll all burst out like he’s pissed off, which is so unfair. 

But if he remains neutral, he won’t get hurt. Right?

However, the kissing and the touching and the sweet words are all way too good for Steve to be a complete cynic. Because god, he wants all of that with Eddie. Exclusively with Eddie. He wants to know how Eddie’s heart monitor will sound if he kisses that caved-in spot between his neck and his ear. He wants to know if it’ll speed up or skip tones if he squeezes Eddie’s thighs. His waist. His cheeks. 

Shit, Steve can’t stay pragmatic if he’s thinking about exploring Eddie like a lickable atlas. 

He clenches his fists into his steering, holds onto the forgotten days. How miserable those days felt. How they’ll feel even worse if he’s too optimistic.

Practical. Steve can do practical.

Eddie looks better than Steve remembers (which was fourteen fucking hours ago). Still. He’s pinker in his cheeks, in his nose too. His hair is combed out at the roots, still fuzzy and wild everywhere else. Almost like he gave up because the tangles were so bad.

He’s wearing one of the faded green hospital gowns today, the color of toothpaste. Steve likes it when he wears this one instead of the off-white ones. Those remind him of outdated nightgowns, the ones that porcelain china dolls wear.

Faded green is better. More life. Less death.

“Are you glued to the door or something?” Eddie says a few seconds after Steve turns the door shut. Still just standing there.

“No.” Steve doesn’t move.

Eddie’s brows lower, forehead creasing. “Gum stuck on your shoe?”

“No.”

“Wait, don't tell me - there’s a force field in this room, and only you can see it.” Eddie points directly at Steve, wagging his finger at him. Steve inspects all of his fingers on that hand, searching. 

No ring.

Steve’s ring isn’t there. Not on that hand, at least.

Eddie snaps twice. “Very Jean Grey of you, Stevie.”

Steve exhales, rearranges the hair on his forehead. He’s tapping over his jeans, thinking up a better way to go about this. Quickly decides there is no Better Way. All Ways suck.

“Munson...”

“Harrington…”

He still needs to see Eddie’s other hand, to look closer. Peer over the stupid bed covers and know for sure. “Just… give me a second.”

“You’re freaking me out, man.” 

“That hurts coming from you.” 

“As it should.” They both go quiet after that. 

It’s definitely Steve’s turn to take the conversational baton, but he can’t. He’s too focused on getting a good view of Eddie’s hand without moving too close. If he gets too close, Steve knows he’ll be tempted to push him into the bed, connect his mouth to Eddie’s and not stop until his lip muscles lose all mobility. 

Steve gets on his tippy toes, slanting his torso sideways to get a better view.

“What the hell are you looking at?” Eddie tosses up both of his hands. Steve lasers in on every goddamn finger.

“Nothing.” Steve says. The ring isn’t there. “It’s nothing.” 

Eddie isn’t wearing his class ring. That’s all there is to it. No reason to get analytical or quiz Eddie on his foggy memories. Steve has his answer in plain sight.

Eddie doesn’t remember.

This is why Steve needed to remain pragmatic, that stupid word he looked up in the event that something like this might happen. He’s still disappointed, still actively working to keep up his decent posture and pleasant disposition. 

Fortunately, the cynicism helped. His foundation isn’t fractured. His heart isn’t skydiving without a parachute.

Steve is as okay as he can be knowing that Eddie Munson forgot about kissing him.

His legs are no longer cement blocks. He’s able to move away from the door just a bit. Moving around actually helps with the disappointment, he’s not really sure why. Maybe it’s because his neurons or whatever have multiple tasks to perform, not just all obsessing over the same fucked up feeling. 

Who knows, at least Steve is taking steps. Metaphorical and literal ones.

“Hey.” Eddie says.

“What?”

Eddie tilts his head to the side, his eyes raking over Steve’s whole body. “You should lock the door.”

“Why?” 

Eddie shrugs. Steve catches a quick smirk before Eddie covers his mouth with his ringless hand.

“Why, Eddie?”

Eddie shrugs again, and has the fucking gall to laugh this time. He pulls out the guitar pick necklace that’s sitting underneath his hospital gown. Except the guitar pick is not the only charm hanging from the chain.

The ring.

Steve’s class ring has been added to it.

His legs are locked once again. Deadbolted to the floor. Magnetized. Frozen. Whatever comic book bullshit Eddie mentioned earlier.

He can’t move.

“If I remember correctly, you told me to wear it.” Eddie’s voice turns lemony-sweet. Almost biting. “You didn’t specify it needed to be on my hand.”

“You’re…” Steve is suddenly short of breath, seeing Eddie’s thumb glide over the metal of his ring.“You’re such an ass.” Christ, he doesn’t believe how gone he sounds when he says it. Even amongst Eddie pulling this trickster douchery nonsense, he’s still fucking weak for him.

“The door.” Eddie punches out each syllable. “Lock it.”

Steve fumbles, stupidly fumbles with the damn lock, takes centuries to get the shit to click properly. He can hear Eddie snickering, which sets him the fuck off. Steve’s suddenly next to the bed, resting one knee on the edge. Gets his hands wrapped up nicely in Eddie’s hair.

Steve can feel Eddie mouthing baby into the kiss, makes him press into it more. All he wants is to feel that one word heating up his lips, pulsing sound-waves against his mouth. Steve lets his hand travel down to Eddie’s chain, pulls once, causes Eddie’s mouth to fall open. Steve does it again to see if it’s a reflex or permission to kiss deeper, fuller.

Eddie hums, closes his mouth over Steve’s bottom lip, lets the vibrations rumble there. He grips around Steve’s hand, the one holding the necklace, and he squeezes them together. 

“You remember?” Steve’s words come out choppy. Split up between breaths and Eddie’s mouth over his own.

Eddie nods, can feel his eyelashes tickling Steve’s cheek. “All I could think about.”

“Me too.” Steve gives the necklace a tiny yank. Eddie’s hand jolts to Steve’s waist, more delicious reflexes that Steve wishes he could chew on.

Steve leans away from the kiss, dipping down to the necklace instead. At first, he just places his teeth on the chain, let’s his tongue feel the small grooves. 

But something possesses him to get weird. Let loose. So Steve sucks on both charms at once, makes too much sound, spit dribbling at the corners of his mouth. He’s fully testing the limits on Eddie’s accessory-based reflexes and it’s working so damn well.

Eddie gets a handful of Steve’s thigh, gives him a firm lift. It’s practically impossible to balance over the bed when Eddie does that maneuver. Steve starts toppling over, smushing Eddie’s face, not sexy at all.

“Cut it out.” Steve whispers, trying to get back up. Trying harder not to laugh.

Eddie groans. “Just get on top of me already.”

“You’re injured.”

“And you’re still not in my lap.”

They transition back to kissing, Eddie’s tongue flits around Steve’s gums. Steve can feel the flicks in his fucking core, deep in the middle, all warm flashes that make his muscles tense up. Like the nerves are connected, like Eddie could alert his whole body to gleam under his touch. 

If it weren’t for this horrid hospital layout, Steve would have Eddie all over him. Tangle them up in unholy ways. Pray mercilessly that no one ever finds a key to unlock the door. Goddamnit, this public respect thing is getting old.

“Can’t touch you how I want like this.” Eddie nestles into Steve’s neck, sucks on his skin till Steve’s head falls back. Steve already can tell that it’ll leave a mark from how sensitive it feels, raw and tingly. 

It only takes one more dig into his thigh for Steve to give up his Respectful Guy charade. Crawls into the bed, throws one leg over Eddie’s side, sinks down into the spot. Christ, he can feel how warm Eddie is from here, and it’s jostling up his mind. Steve can finally comprehend why every girl he’s ever hooked up with insists on making out like this. It’s a fucking recipe for sin.

“Shit, this is…” Steve claws his hands over Eddie’s chest, over the gown. Hopes he doesn’t undo any wires or bandages.

Eddie grins. “Different view?”

“Yeah.”

“You like?”

Steve gets lower, cages his arms around either side of Eddie. “Like the guy I’m looking down at.”

“Good answer.”

Kissing like this beats every other position that Steve’s horned-up mind can think of. It’s all muted moans and wet lips. Eddie’s still in his sweatpants from yesterday, thank every star in the sky for that. Steve can already feel how turned on he is, has to keep resisting the urge to hook his finger into Eddie’s waistband. Mess around with the fabric until Eddie whines.

“Steve.” 

Just like that.

Eddie keeps targeting the bruise he made. Nurses at the skin like he could make new colors if he sucks hard enough. Maybe teeth-marks, maybe speckled blues. Fuck, Steve wants both. More.

“Feels so fucking good.” It does, it really does. Steve can’t think about how dumb and slutty hickies are when it feels this good.

Eddie kisses over it, washes the sting away. “Like making you feel good.” 

Eddie is starting to smell less like hospital disinfectant and more like Steve. Like Steve’s bedroom and Steve’s shower gel. Like Steve’s laundry detergent and Steve’s car freshener. God, Steve wants to roll his hips just a little harder, tongue him a little deeper. Get his hands on every inch of Eddie until they smell unrecognizable from one another.

“Can I?” Eddie tugs on the hem of Steve’s sweater, eyes fully blown, lips naturally pouting from all the kissing. This is how he should always look, make a goddamn monument out of this adorably fucked-up expression.

“I’ve got it.” Steve straightens back up, peeling his sweater over his head, undershirt going with it. His hair is already tousled and ruined from Eddie combing through it so aggressively, he doesn’t even mind all the static making it worse.

Eddie’s devilish smile drops to a regular smile, then disappears altogether. His hooded eyes are now wide, unblinking. His hands go straight to Steve’s stomach, fingers splayed out completely.

“Holy fuck, Steve.” 

It takes longer for it to register than it should. Steve has royally screwed up. Majorly. Eddie starts skimming over all of Steve’s scars, the ones shaped exactly like his. 

Those distinct ones that Eddie doesn’t remember receiving. Believes whatever bullshit story the doctors told him when he woke up.

This is bad.

This is terribly bad.

Eddie’s hands fall, returning back to his side. His voice sounds flimsy. Small. “They’re just like mine.”

“Yeah.” Steve agrees. Cause what the fuck else would he do? “They are.”

“I wasn’t in a car crash… was I?”

A car crash? Real original, very creative for a group of people that spent a decade of their life training their brain muscles to be the size of the Titanic. Bravo, geniuses.

Steve just shakes his head. Doesn’t let his bitterness show too much, upset Eddie further.

“Fucking knew it.” Eddie deflates back into his pillows, slamming his fist over the side railing. The sound makes Steve’s shoulders jump, decides now would be a good time to un-straddle himself from Eddie. Sit in a chair like a non-horny person might do. 

“So whatever happened to me… it happened to you too?”

Steve can’t get the words out just yet, still giving Eddie non-verbal answers. Head nods, shoulder-shrugs, depressing looks away from his intense stares.

The room is way too quiet. Steve’s silence is stifling. Even the empty spaces feel crowded.

“Shit.” Eddie must feel it too. The mysterious claustrophobia brought on by full disclosure. “What… what happenedto us?”

Steve forces the words to come out this time. “You’ll never believe me.”

“Well you’re in luck. Cause even if I do believe you, I might not even remember.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

Steve hates this. Hates that he caused this by being careless. Hates that it’s his fault and he can’t blame it on anyone else. 

“Fine.” He shakes off the hatred because it’s stupid and it’s getting them nowhere. Just dead-end roads and abandoned streets. Steve gets somber instead. “The door stays locked.”

“Is it that bad?” Eddie asks, straightening himself up in the bed.

“It’s that bad.”

“Jesus christ.”

Yeah. Any explicit response is fitting for what Steve is about to attempt.

“Exactly.”

Steve is doing a shit job at explaining all this interdimensional monster fuckery. Having Dustin here as backup would’ve been handy, especially since he gets all the DnD references that seem to further confuse Eddie. 

Like… Eddie is taking all the references way too literally to how he uses them in his complicated board game - they have to pause every time a new term comes up. Has to elaborate that ‘no, it isn’t the same as those scarily intricate drawings in your guidebook. It’s just whatever the twerps came up with on that day.’

Honestly, Steve expects the subject matter to be the difficult part, not the skewed fantasy terminology. All the making out has shuffled Steve’s brain, made him forget how strange Eddie is.

He kinda likes it though. Hell, he’s fawning over the strangeness.

It’s been almost two hours, Steve can’t believe he’s gone over everything in such a short duration. Definitely missed some details, but whatever. Eddie gets the gist, that’s what matters.

“So…” Steve says.

“So…” Eddie copies.

“Thoughts?”

“I have them.”

Steve rolls his eyes, crosses his arms. “Do you think I’m bullshitting you on any of this?”

“If you were Mike Wheeler, maybe.” Eddie jokes. He jokes all the damn time, but Steve is fairly certain that this is one of those self-defense jokes. The side of his humor he wears as a shield. “I swear to god, that kid thinks up the craziest fucking scenarios. Almost scared to hand over the reins of Hellfire to a twisted mind like that.”

He takes a minute, snorts at his own commentary, then unwinds. Settling down.

“But you…” Eddie says, pointing at Steve, staring hard. “Well, I don’t exactly think Steve Harrington, Lord of Frenching, would be able to conjure up such reveries with your particular flavor of imagination.”

“That sounds like an insult.”

“Maybe.” Eddie says. “But if you were somehow both a total hottie and a total nerd, I’d be thoroughly wrecked.”

Steve perks up, twirls a finger into Eddie’s hair. “I’d like to see that.”

Eddie shoves him away, definitely giggling. “This is precisely what I mean! Trying to seduce me right after telling me there’s another world directly beneath our feet. You’re just…”

“Ridiculous?”

“Exceptional.”

How can Steve feel this flattered after explaining the most traumatic timeline of events? He’s blushing, the kind of blush that girls would sit in front of their mirrors to apply perfectly, apply evenly - Steve is doing that kind of blushing, just naturally. And yeah, he might have that effect on Eddie, but Eddie has the same effect on him.

They let the far-fetched truth resonate for a while. The silence is back gathering the space between them, but it’s less suffocating this time. It feels valid.

Eddie shifts his weight in the bed, looks at a scar on the inside of his arm. “So, I was almost a bat feast, huh?”

Steve touches the scar in response. Hopes Eddie understands the confirmation.

Eddie sighs. “Did anyone else… did we lose anyone?”

“Verdict is still out on that one.”

“Missing?”

“Coma.”

“Oh.” Eddie looks away. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Steve is sorry too. Should’ve been him.

“Someone I know?” 

“She was your neighbor, so probably.”

Eddie looks down at his lap, eyebrows knitted together. His go-to frustration face.

Right.

• Eddie doesn’t remember where he lives.

“Her and Sinclair used to date.” Steve tells him. “He’s with her right now, actually.”

“She’s here?”

Steve sings an ‘mhmm’ through closed lips.

Thinking about Max never gets easier. She basically sacrificed herself and Steve just let her do it. He let a fucking child convince him that they had no other choice. Of course they had other choices. 

Infinite choices. The shitty yet amazing part about being a human with freewill.

It should’ve been him. That should’ve been the choice.

“Can we go visit with her?” Eddie interrupts Steve’s intrusive thoughts, probably for the best. “Would that be weird?”

Steve studies Eddie’s expression for a minute. It’s uneasy, distressed. Just plain sad. All of that is more than understandable. This is heavy shit. 

“Not weird.” Steve gets up. “Think it’d be pretty nice actually.”

Eddie waits outside Max’s door while Steve heads in first. Just checking to make sure Lucas is cool with them covering his shift for a little while. 

Steve gives a few taps over the door before peaking in. “Just me, Sinclair.”

“Good to see you, man.” Lucas looks up from his book. He’s been reading Max the whole The Dark Tower series to her since July. She has an undying love for Stephen King, they’re all pretty optimistic she can hear powerful words - and all of his are.

“Heya, Mayfield.” Steve lays a hand on her shoulder, rubs his thumb back and forth. “All the other losers at the skate park are gonna be so jealous of you. You’ll have the sickest scars there, no competition.”

“Steve.”

“What? She agrees.”

They all refuse to whisper around her or talk about her in the past tense. Like she’s not even there. Like she’s already gone.

She’s not. She’s in there somewhere, Steve just knows it. If Eddie can come back, so can she. Max is a goddamn powerhouse. 

“How’s Eddie doing?”

“He’s… you know.” Steve instinctively rubs the purplish-gray bruise on neck, face prickling up. “He’s good.”

The best, actually.

“Glad to hear it.”

“He’s here, by the way.” Steve sneaks that in there. “Wanted to visit with our girl, if that’s cool.”

Lucas does a double take. “Wait - he remembers?”

Surprise, surprise. Steve opens his big, fat (pretty) mouth for a second time today. “No, no… I told him.” Way to go, dumbass. 

“Steve!”

“Hey! He saw my scars.” Steve matches volume. “I had no choice!”

“How exactly did he see your scars?”

Damn damn damn. “That’s…not… never mind.” Steve is stumbling, the words are all scrunched together, total nonsense in his throat. “It’s sort of irrelevant now. He knows. And he’s here, so…”

Lucas sighs, gives Steve a good ol’ fashioned Eye Roll, and looks over towards Max. “Guess I should take a lunch break anyways. I’ll be back in a half hour.”

Steve nods, pulls a chair right up next to Max. She’s in better condition than she was after her last surgery. Less gaunt. Sure, there’s no major changes, but still. None of them are giving up on her. She’d kicked their asses in whatever afterlife that may exist.

Lucas drops a kiss into Max’s hair, whispers something in her ear. Steve does his best not to eavesdrop, doesn’t seem like it’s any of his business. Lucas gives Steve a pat on the back and sighs again. The two of them are in this place the most, Steve completely relates to how draining the atmosphere can be. Exasperation is so warranted.

“Send Eddie in on your way out.” Steve says.

“Will do.”

Lucas and Eddie chat outside for a while, so Steve takes the opportunity to catch up with Max, keeps his hand on her forearm the whole time. He tells her about Eddie, how he likes him. Really likes him. Knows she wouldn’t give a shit about something like that, about liking guys. She’d probably make fun of him for making a lame ass mixtape though. So he tells her about that too - lets her imagine how nauseating he can get when he crushes this hard on someone.

He tells her that everyone misses her, Mike included, even if he’d never say it out loud.

“He’s always buying new stickers for your casts.” Steve says it like it’s the juiciest gossip. “Tries to convince us that Lucas asked him to. The kid’s a shitty liar though, but you already know that.”

Her heart monitor is nothing like Eddie’s. It’s a dull pattern, never changing. There’s no ballad or pop song fragments. No song at all. 

Steve tries not to dwell on how much that hurts, leaves splinters in his chest.

The door squeaks and Eddie slides in. He seems kind of nervous, anxious maybe. But he meets Steve’s reassuring gaze and lets go. Smiles. All the splinters in Steve’s chest turn into petals. He loves how happy he can make Eddie, just by looking at him. That feels genuine and rare. Very rare.

Steve signals his head towards Max, needs Eddie to greet her properly. Present tense, no whispers.

Eddie looks back at Max, takes two steps forward. “Um…”

“Something wrong?”

“Remember when I told you I have crazy, vivid dreams?”

“Yeah?”

“Well…” Eddie scratches the top of his head. Looks at Steve in disbelief. “She’s in almost all of them.”

Shit. “Are you serious?”

“Little Miss Charlie McGee.” Eddie sings, arms waving toward her. “In the flesh.”

Steve’s voice goes flat. “That’s not her name.”

“Be cool, babe. She gets the reference.”

Eddie quickly picks up on their Max Etiquette. He approaches her like they’re old friends, shows off his visible battle scars, makes her feel included. Steve is captivated by Eddie’s ease, his summery energy he develops with her.

“So you two talk?”

Eddie waves him off. “I talk. She just…”

“Right.” Steve assumes the answers. Finally wraps his head around what Eddie is telling him, that he dreams about Max, often. “Still - this is huge. Like… this is a big fucking deal!”

“Mellow your vibes, please.”

“Says the most un-mellow person I know.”

Eddie shushes him, gives his full attention to Max. “We gotta get you out here, McGee. If I had known you weren’t just my little dream angel, I would’ve busted you out of this joint months ago.”

He’s so fucking great with her, so normal about all of this. Within a few hours, Steve has turned Eddie’s perspective on life inside-out, yet he’s still so attentive. Totally adopting Steve’s patience and gladly offering to Max, the person who needs it most right now.

Steve steals a quick kiss onto Eddie’s cheek, sort of misses and pecks his chin instead.

Eddie bites his lip, scolds Steve halfheartedly. “No kissing in front of Little Red.”

Max would definitely deck him for calling her little.

Steve kisses Eddie’s cheek again, doesn’t miss this time. “Just… really like you.”

“Like you too, Stevie. Could bake you into a pie, save you for dessert.”

“Barf.”

“Uh huh - get used to it.” Eddie hugs Steve from behind, sways them back and forth like a cheesy prom dance. “It’s gonna get so much worse. Red is probably so sick of me yapping her ear off about you.” 

Steve twists his neck around to look at Eddie. “So… she knows?”

Eddie nods, scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t ever shut up about you.”

“Could’ve ended the sentence with I don’t ever shut up, and it would still be accurate.” 

“Feisty.”

Steve looks towards Max. He smiles, thinks about how she’d tell them they’re both total dipshits before doing a kickass flip on her skateboard. “She brings out the best in me.”

They fill Lucas in on the fact that Eddie dreams about Max almost every night. Of course, Lucas wants as many details as Eddie’s mangled mind can give him.

The dreams are simple: a dark room, almost pitch black. Max is sitting cross-legged in the center, staring directly at Eddie. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t stand up either. But if Eddie talks, she’ll non-verbally respond in some type of way.

For instance, Eddie says he told her his top five favorite movies of all time. She stared at him blankly until he got to number four: Firestarter. She smiled. He says it was brief, but it was the first time he discovered that she was listening to him. Understanding him.

“Hence the name -“

“Charlie McGee.” Lucas chuckles, getting the reference. Steve doesn’t - pretty sure he was necking Sydney Sawyer for the whole duration of that film.

They’re all sitting in the stairwell outside of Max’s room. No point in discussing this in there, upsetting her with their schemes and impractical theories. No one has concrete answers, not even the doctors. Why should three losers be an exception to this?

Pointless as it may be, they continue to brainstorm. 

“Any new Kate Bush albums?” Steve asks.

Lucas shuffles back and forth. “We have the stereo playing all the time in there. I think that would’ve woken her up months ago if it were that easy.”

There’s another long pause. A few sighs ripple out, echo.

“Eddie?” Lucas says.

“Yeah?”

“Remember that character you came up with in your last campaign?” Lucas’ energy changes, fills the corridor they’re standing in.

Eddie’s mouth opens, then shuts. 

Steve has to tackle back the urge to remind Lucas that Eddie struggles with recent memories like that. He’s an expert on All Things Eddie, but that’s not exactly something he should flaunt right now. Steve knows how to read the room for christ’s sake.

Lucas faces Eddie, seems determined. “Come on, man. It was so badass.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“The oracle’s assistant…” Lucas nudges eagerly. “Ring any bells?”

Eddie sheepishly looks away, looks at Steve for support maybe. He should know better, Steve isn’t going to be helpful with nerd shit. But Steve elbows Eddie’s side, gives him a weak smile. Just a subtle bit of encouragement.

They both glance over to Lucas who is deep in the thought, mumbling to himself.

“They relinquish all their autonomy while the sun hangs in the sky…” Lucas recites. Steve thinks he’s imitating Eddie’s narrator voice. It’s not too bad, actually. “But when darkness falls and their eyes grow heavy with sleep…”

“The lowly assistant governs the slumber of their ruler.” Eddie finishes the phrase with a wolfish grin. “Sinclair, you’re a certified genius!”

“You came up with it.” Lucas pats Eddie's shoulder, grinning just as wide. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“It’s worth a shot.”

“Do you even know how to -”

“Not really.” Eddie squints, contemplating. “But how hard can it be?”

“Dunno. Never tried it.”

Steve finally cuts into their little exchange. “Would either of you care to translate your dweeb-ology to me?”

Both Lucas and Eddie stop murmuring to each other and gawk at Steve. They’re not laughing at him, not yet at least. More so, they’re staring as if they somehow forgot Steve was even there. Like their board game bullshit sucked them onto their own nerdy planet, far from Earth.

Eddie places a hand on Steve’s cheek, still wearing that performance smile he gets when his fantasy lingo takes hold of him. Steve is fully aware that it doesn’t look sexy, the way Eddie does it, but his breath still gets caught in his chest at the contact. 

“My dear, sweet Stevie.” Eddie sings, sounds sinister. He playfully smacks Steve’s cheek a few times before removing his hand. “Have you ever of a lucid dream?”

Steve scrunches his nose. “Sounds gross.”

Eddie: Nope - your mind is just filthy.

Steve: Least my mind works…

Eddie: For a harlot, sure.

Steve: A what?

Eddie: Nothing.

They’re about to continue their bickering when Lucas clears his throat. Gives each of them a disturbed expression. “You two sound like my parents.”

Steve and Eddie both gag at the implication, denying any resemblance to fucking grownups. No way. They may not be in high school anymore, but they’re definitely not adults. They’re both trapped in that state of maturity limbo, where age is merely a suggestion, not a law. Sort of like Steve with speed limit signs.

“Whatever.” Lucas heads for the door. “I’ll go keep Max company while you fill Steve in on the plan.”

“You got it, Sinclair.” Eddie gives Lucas a stern salute as he leaves the stairwell.

As soon as the door shuts, Steve's hands are all over Eddie. Pulling the drawstring of sweatpants closer to him, curling his fingers at the back of his neck. He can hear Eddie make a surprised noise, but doesn’t dwell on it. Just presses him into the wall, kisses him hard. Steve tries to kiss quietly, minimal lip smacking, but Eddie heaves into his mouth and Steve loses all of his control.

“Distracted?” 

Steve mumbles something like, ‘so hot,’ but his lips can only do so many tasks at once. Right now, he’s way too preoccupied with running his tongue over the ridges of Eddie’s teeth, tempting him to bare down. 

Eddie gives into the temptation too easily, grazes his front teeth over Steve’s tongue, Steve’s bottom lip, Steve’s jaw. Goddamnit, the dull pricks of teeth turn Steve’s insides into custard. So fucking decadent and absolute mush.

“Was it my Dungeon Master voice?” Eddie sneers, pulling down the collar on Steve’s shirt to lick over the bruise he placed there earlier today. “Did that get you all horned up for me?”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Which is a backwards way of saying yes. One thousand percent yes. Fucking christ, who knew Eddie’s gravelly narrator voice would be borderline audio porn for Steve?

Eddie swirls over the bruise again, then leans back into a slobbery open-mouthed kiss, real messy and wet. His hands slip into Steve’s jean back pockets, cupping his ass, makes his knees lock.

“Wish you weren’t in such a bulky material, darling boy.” Eddie uses that voice. His nails dig into the scratchy fabric, so many dirty noises bouncing off the walls. Eddie isn’t even asking Steve to take off his clothes, but he doesn’t have to. The voice, the desires, it’s all there. All heavy and whirling in Steve’s mind.

“Oh okay fuck,” Steve’s words all sound whimpery now, almost depraved. He sinks into one more kiss. Makes it last, makes it sting. Finds the willpower to create a non-ass-cupping distance between them. 

Eddie wipes his mouth with the back in his hand and smirks. He tilts his head up at Steve’s hair, which Steve already knows is proabably fucked up. He’s always teetering on a stylized sex hair look, so it’s gotta be wet dream worthy right now. Steve smooths out the sides, minimal effort to look presentable, and Eddie just spectates. Enjoys the show that is Rattled Steve Harrington.

“You’ve got a freaky side.” Eddie says, way too vile. 

Steve keeps flattening out strands on his head, ignoring the heat settling into his cheeks. Ignoring Eddie’s comment too. “Just tell me about the gross dream thing.”

“Fine.” Eddie plops down on the top step of the stairs. “Take a seat, fellow freak.”

Turns out, it’s not gross at all. It’s actually kind of cool. Really cool.

From Steve’s understanding (and Eddie’s elaborate explanation), lucid dreams are kind of like directed dreams. Like the individual who’s experiencing them can actually decide their own actions. Change outcomes and shit. If Steve had known that was an actual ability, he would’ve done things a lot differently in that dream he had about getting snowed in at the Playboy Mansion.

Okay… maybe Steve is the one that’s making it gross.

“So, you’re gonna lucid dream tonight?”

“I’m gonna try. Try being the keyword because I don’t think it’ll be that easy.”

“Sam will be back on Monday.” Steve reminds him. “We could see if she knows anything about it.”

Eddie clicks his teeth, nodding along. “That’s not a bad idea, Harrington. That woman is a wealth of knowledge.”

“If she runs for president, I’m endorsing the shit out of her.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

They head back to Eddie’s room, writing down anything that seems helpful or significant to their plan. Steve leaves a bit early to beat traffic. It’s not ideal, he’d rather stay the night. 

Leaving Eddie is tough, gets tougher every time. Steve makes him put the ring back in the drawer, just in case he forgets. Can’t take any chances.

“How could I ever?” Eddie circles his thumb around Steve’s palm. Traces small shapes into his skin.

Steve shrugs. “Just to be safe.”

“Okay.”

“But… don’t.” The word forget stays unsaid. It already holds too much power amongst them. No reason to give it more fuel, more gravity.

Eddie brings Steve’s palm up to his lips, kisses away all the invisible patterns he put there. “I won’t.”

It’s not a promise, they know better than to promise things that are radio static. Fuzzy and unclear. Mental fog. Even so, Steve lets those two words fuse his broken expectations back together.

Just until morning.

That’s all he needs.

Day 73:

The phone is ringing. It’s four in the fucking morning and the phone is ringing.

Steve decides after the third time that he’s not answering - out of spite.

But then it rings two more times and he cracks. Swears every curse word he knows walking over to the phone, invents some new ones too. His eyes still refuse to open, he’s blindly picking it up off the hook.

“Who is it?” He whisper-yells. That’s the only volume his voice has at four in the fucking morning.

There’s an obnoxious kissy sound coming through on the speaker. 

“Damnit, Munson.”

“Don’t be rude, you love it when I tease.”

“I don’t love anything at four in the morning except the inside of my eyelids.”

“Ouchie.” He can tell Eddie is pouting into the speaker. Can practically hear his lips pushing out, being a real dick about it.

Steve yawns. “Is this important? Did the dream thing work”

“Wouldn’t know. Can’t sleep.”

“And how am I supposed to help?” Steve gets to be a dick too if he has to form coherent thoughts at four in the fucking morning.

“Bedtime story? Lullaby? Dirty limerick?” Eddie suggests, sounds totally wired. “I’m not picky.”

Ugh. Steve is such a pushover in general. But for Eddie Munson? He’s a lovesick fool. “I can stay on the phone and you can listen to me snore. Final offer.”

“Sure, I’ll take it.” He hears Eddie clapping. “But at least tell me what you’re wearing.”

“You’re joking.”

“Most of the time, yes. I am.” Eddie says. He waits for an answer that he does not receive because fuck, why would Steve talk dirty right now? Eddie fake-coughs into the speaker, puts on the most pathetic voice. “Just give a dying man some x-rated visuals and I’ll shut up.”

“Good god, you’re not dying.”

Now Eddie is fake-crying because of course he is. Such a drama queen. As soon as they get his memory back, Steve is getting him a goddamn talent agent. Let him win a few awards for his untimely performances.

“Red pajamas bottoms.” Steve gives in. Classic pushover style. 

“No shirt?”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

Steve laughs, can’t help it. “Thought you said you’d be quiet now.”

“It was an involuntary fuck, I promise.”

“Whatever you say, babe.”

He falls asleep hearing Eddie hum the last track on his mixtape that he made for him. The one that’s always at the top of his stack.

There’s no visual torture from Eddie today. The necklace is in plain sight, Steve’s class ring sitting directly over top of Eddie's guitar pick. No need to make assumptions or compose his cauldron of feelings. 

Nope. Eddie remembers. Eddie likes him and didn’t forget. Steve could toss the binder of progress into the dumpster, let it live out the rest of its days in a goddamn landfill for all he cares.

He’s not gonna do that though because he’s nowhere near Eddie Munson on the Dramatics Scale.

They spend the early part of the afternoon working through questions that Eddie can try to ask Max in his dream. It keeps them busy while they wait for Sam to arrive on her shift. Steve picked up quite a few packets of gum at the gas station - both to sweeten their request and replenish her supply.

Eddie is pretty exhausted from not sleeping much during the night. Anytime Steve fiddles with the mismatched necklace charms, Eddie answers him with languid, plush kisses. The slowest, most mindless kind - the type of kisses that makes Steve feel as if they’ve been kissing each other for years, not days.

“You’re scrumptious.” Eddie praises, his tone is all tipsy from the affection.

“You’re heavily medicated.” 

They’re pretty disgusting today, probably from all the happiness that breeds gross shit. Steve is whirling strands of Eddie’s hair, watching it stay curled. Eddie is tickling Steve in inappropriate areas. A fuckton of tongue-kissing.

So gross.

“Stay tonight?” Eddie says randomly.

Steve uncurls Eddie’s hair from his finger, thinking over the request. “What if I mess up the lucid dream process?”

“Sweetheart, you are a mess repellant. You dust away all the bad shit and make things shiny and clear.”

“Can’t clean your messy memories though.” Steve points out.

Eddie purses his lips. “Yeah well, that’s asking for a miracle.”

“I guess so.”

“I know so.”

“You and Max deserve miracle-level results though.”

“See what I mean?” Eddie peppers kisses into Steve’s hair. “Scrumptious.”

Unlike Steve, Sam is a miracle worker. Anytime there’s a lull in her shift, she sits with the two of them, discussing the mechanics of lucid dreaming. Tells them how she did sleep studies during her last two semesters of college.

“Lucky for you, some of the medications you’re on, calm your mind to begin with.” Sam explains. “That helps with your long term memories, but it also eases your mind in general - sleep included.”

“Like a muscle relaxer for his brain?” Steve chimes in.

“Essentially.” Sam says. “This should make the lucid dream process fairly easy for you. Your mind is already open to new perceptions.”

“I do sometimes feel like I’m steering the actions in these dreams.” Eddie agrees. “It sort of feels second nature to me.”

That checks out. Steve grabs the binder, shows Sam a few notes he took on the first day:

‘It doesn’t take long, sleep seems more natural to Eddie right now than being awake.’

She scans over the words a few more times before speaking again. “You’d be surprised. A lot of head trauma patients that take a cocktail of treatments say the same exact thing. They describe it as the dream world being easier to navigate than the waking world. Less pressure to meet societal standards.”

Sam gives a few more tips while she goes through Eddie’s nighttime medication routine. Most of them have to do with Eddie checking in with his surroundings, noticing differences or passage of time, things like that. They could potentially wake him up during his REM cycle, but she sort of doubts that they’ll need to do that. Her assurance seems to rub off on Eddie. Steve is fucking grateful for that.

“Should I leave?” Steve gets up, noticing the time. Visiting hours are about to end. “I mean… Will I be a distraction?”

Sam doesn’t look up from her chart, just motions towards Eddie. “Does Steve bring you comfort or stress?”

“Comfort.” Eddie answers fast, noticeably red. “Definitely comfort.”

She clicks her pen, looks up at Steve, and smiles. “Then he can stay.”

Eddie spends over an hour constructing a solid argument as to why Steve should sleep in the hospital bed with him. He even includes a thesis statement and a variety of credible sources (if one considers Nightmare on Elm Street to be a credible source). 

“What if a doctor walks in and sees two dudes cuddling like teddy bears? What the hell do we say?”

“We tell them it’s for science. Duh.” Eddie folds the blanket back, pats the spot next to him. “Besides, they’re fucking surgeons, Stevie. I’m sure they’ve seen weirder shit.”

“Valid point.”

After an excessive amount of maneuvering and soft-pretzeling their limbs together, Steve is in Eddie’s hospital bed, under the covers. He places a few chaste kisses onto the back of Eddie’s neck before sinking into the cushion of their shared-pillow.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you ever think this would happen?”

“Did I ever think I would be spooning a guy with a memory-deficient brain and plotting a way to wake up a girl who survived an unsurvivable death?” Steve squeezes the two of them together. Lets the rhetoric of his question oscillate along with the shitty fan in the corner of the room. He can feel Eddie laughing against his chest and it makes him squeeze harder. “Yes. This is exactly where I thought my life would take me. Thank you for asking.”

“Smartassery and pillowtalk.” Eddie smacks Steve’s hand that’s wrapped around his stomach. “I’m a lucky guy.”

Steve thinks he’s the lucky one. He’s earned the trust of someone that has every reason to resent the whole world. He has a second chance to get to know someone that shouldn’t even be alive. Steve is the luckiest idiot in this dimension and every fuckstorm alternate dimension that may exist out there.

The beeps on Eddie’s heart monitor are slowing down. Steve knows what that means, it’s his second most fluent language these days. Eddie is drifting off, almost asleep.

“Bout gone?” Steve keeps his voice hushed, barely audible. 

Eddie hums a grumply, ‘mhmm’ and moves Steve’s hand over his heart. No need to listen to the monitor now. 

This is it. This is their chance to make a difference, reverse the injustice. Be heroes.

“Go find our girl, Munson.”

“You got it, babe.”

Day 74:

This is the best night of sleep Steve has had since… well, since that reality-shattering night back in 1983. Nancy Wheeler cocking a gun at a goddamn creature and spitting in the face of cowardice. Sleep hasn’t been the same since then.

So to sleep throughout the whole night, not jolting awake, not once. That’s an outright win for Steve fucking Harrington.

Eddie sleeps longer, more soundly too. That’s nothing new, he always sleeps like this - since day one of the memory log that Steve started keeping, but stopped needing. Stopped relying on it. 

His brain has made extra space, exclusive storage, just for Eddie. It’s weird to reflect on, but that’s a common thing Steve has done when he falls for someone. He automatically creates a penthouse for all of their quirks and isms to reside comfortably in. Live luxuriously inside his fucked-up head.

It’s around eight in the morning by the time Eddie starts stirring, scooting in closer to Steve’s touch. Fucking hell, it makes he feel wanted. Important. 

Eddie slowly flips around to face Steve, twisting himself up in all his tubes. Doesn’t matter. Steve is certain that Eddie knows by now that he will untangle him without making it weird - no arm scribbles necessary. They’re beyond that.

“Morning, demonic tinker bell.”

“I remember that.” Eddie is still groggy. “I remember you.”

It’ll never get old hearing him say that. “Would’ve been so fucking awkward if you didn’t.”

Steve’s lips are all chapped from sleeping with his mouth open, but he kisses Eddie anyways. Honestly, Eddie doesn’t seem to care. Might be too sleepy to notice.

He’s lost a lot of weight, being on a hospital diet and throwing up all the damn time. Even so, Eddie looks doughy and sweet in the morning. Steve wants to squish his drowsy little face, smush his nose, honk it like a car horn.

They kiss a little longer before the anticipation becomes too much. Steve has to know what happened in Eddie’s dream. “So… any luck?” 

“Are you a gambling man?” Eddie asks through a yawn. “Cause if so, then yeah.”

“Holy shit, really?” Steve starts shaking Eddie’s shoulder. “Did she tell you what might help wake her up?”

“She didn’t speak, but she was holding something this time.” 

“Holding what?”

“Think it was Corduroy.”

“The material?”

“The bear. You know, the children’s book?”

No, Steve doesn’t know that children’s book. While most of the kid's parents were reading Little Golden Books, Steve’s nanny was reading him excerpts from her murder-mystery novels. Although, his dad did occasionally hand Steve the comics out of the morning newspaper. Whenever he was around, that is.

“I asked if the bear was hers and if she still has it.” Eddie pokes Steve’s cheek. “And she nodded yes to both. That’s a start, right?”

“Definitely a start. It’s gotta be.” Steve sits up in the bed, stretches and cracks every fucking bone in his back. “I’ll go grab us some coffee and fill Lucas in once he gets here.”

Eddie gives him a thumbs-up, reaches onto the desk for his walkman. Steve’s walkman.

Nah. Who is he kidding? He’d put a goddamn bow on it. He’d let Eddie keep it forever.

It’s Eddie’s walkman now.

Lucas heads to Eddie’s room once he arrives. They drink their coffees while Eddie fills him in on the dream updates. It’s nice to see Lucas all perked-up again, he’s been pretty dejected for several months now. Even if they’re just clinging to scraps of hope, it’s better than grasping at maybes and question marks. That’s all they’ve been doing up until now.

“I’ve seen it.” Lucas says. “Green overalls? Ripped arm that’s missing all of its stuffing?”

Eddie hums into his coffee cup. “Looks like she sewed it back together with yellow threads?”

“That’s the one.” Lucas confirms. “It’s in her bedroom - she keeps it in a box of stuff from her grandma.”

He fills Steve and Eddie in about her grandma, how she took Max in during the worst part of her parent’s separation. Whenever the fights were unbearable, she’d take Max to the park for some fresh air. Lucas says he’s pretty sure that she bought Max her first skateboard. The bear must be a gift from her too, must be pretty meaningful.

“Do you think you can get it?” Steve wonders, looking towards Lucas.

“For sure, I’ll drop by tonight after I leave.”

“Wait.” Eddie interrupts their order of business, wildly waving his hand. “When is McGee’s birthday?”

“November 6th.” Lucas answers.

Steve checks the weekly calendar on the wall, the one used to track Eddie’s medical schedule. “That’s three days from today.”

“Do it then.” Eddie demands. 

“Why?” Steve and Lucas say it at the same time. 

“The song.” Eddie begins to hum the tune of happy birthday, conducting himself along with his index finger. “It was very quiet, but I heard it during the whole entire dream.”

Lucas has a skeptical look on his face. “So, you think we should… wait?”

“It’s a gut feeling.”

Lucas huffs, seems apprehensive about this idea. He’s been incredibly patient, more patient than Steve on his best days. But even the most tolerant individuals have boiling points. This might be his.

So Steve tries to intervene, uses his coach voice for good measure. “If Eddie says wait, then we wait.”

And that’s exactly what they do. 

They wait.

Day 76:

It’s the day before Max’s birthday. Steve hasn’t really left the hospital since Monday, too busy checking in on her and keeping Eddie stress-free, just in case he needs to lucid dream again. They’re doing that Inseparable Thing - that obnoxious clingy shit that lovesick people do. Is that what Steve’s experiencing? Lovesickness? Ugh, he needs to ask Sam if she can write a prescription for him - get the gooey feelings under control or whatever.

Lucas arrives with a box, probably the one he mentioned to them a couple days ago. Carefully, he pulls out a raggedy teddy bear.

“That’s the one!” Eddie almost chokes on his potato soup from the excitement. “That’s the bear from the dream!”

“It’s… falling apart.” Steve makes an unpleasant face.

“It’s well loved.” Lucas corrects him. “Clearly, this means a lot to Max.”

Steve gets up, starts pacing the room with a pestering thought. “Remember what El told us? About happy memories being stronger than the hateful ones?”

“George Lucas would eat that shit up.” Eddie replies.The name sounds familiar, but Steve doesn’t catch on. “I mean, come on. That’s very Dark Side versus The Force.”

Lucas high-fives Eddie. “Dude, you’re so right.”

“This is a Star Wars thing, right?” 

They both look at Steve like he just murdered their silly little nerd vibes.

“I’m gonna pretend like he just didn’t refer to Star Wars as a thing.” Eddie shudders. Lucas joins him the theatrics.

Steve rolls his eyes, recalls Eddie’s reaction to his dice collection. “Let me guess: it’s not a thing, Star Wars is phenomenon.”

“Pretty boy catches on fast.” Eddie winks, gives Steve a dark look that makes him think they’re gonna be up to some fairly vulgar stuff later.

“Steve might be onto something…” Lucas admits. Honestly, why is it so hard for people to admit that Steve has good ideas sometimes? “Maybe what she used against Vecna the first time wasn’t her happiest memory.” 

Steve studies the bear, examines its matted fur and the questionable stains on its overalls. Max must’ve had this for a long time, considering all the wear and tear. “Maybe this is connected to her happiest memory.”

Lucas nods. “She probably repressed a lot of her childhood, there was too much crazy bullshit going on with her family splitting up.” 

Eddie sighs, they both look up at his thoughtful expression. Deep, comtemplative eyes. “I bet some of her good memories may have been shoved aside with all of the bad memories she tries to avoid.” 

Of course Eddie can relate to memories getting shoved aside, hidden away whether he likes it or not. There’s pieces to this scenario that each one of them can link to their own past. It’s not surprising, but then again, not much surprises Steve anymore. 

He learned early on with all of this monster fuckery that the phrase common ground, gained its notoriety for a reason. It’s much more common than anyone thinks. Finding it, even amongst a group of clashing personalities, is easy. 

Common.

Lucas hides in Eddie’s room in order to stay past visiting hours. They plan on taking the back stairs to sneak into Max’s room just before midnight. Eddie suggests that just Steve and Lucas go - he doesn’t want anyone getting suspicious if he’s not in his bed.

Steve offers to stay with him, but Eddie is insistent. Stubborn. “You’ve gotta help Sinclair. Make sure he doesn’t royally fuck things up.”

They both know that’s bullshit. Out of the two of them, Steve is the fucker-upper. “What if you need help?”

“I’ve got Sam.” Eddie reminds him, places a quick kiss over Steve’s wrist. “And besides, I’ll just be sleeping. Nighttime meds usually knock me out cold.”

“Usually.”

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart.” Eddie speaks in the kindest register Steve has ever heard from him. It’s really nice. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

There’s an unwanted fear taking over Steve’s mind right now. A selfish fear.

“Remember me. Okay, Eddie?”

Eddie’s kind register doesn’t waver. “Okay, Steve.”

It’s almost midnight. Steve places the stuffed bear in the crook of Max’s right arm. Lucas slings her arm over it, keeping it secure. Eddie told them that’s the arm she holds it with in his dreams. Might as well be as accurate as possible with this.

They keep the conversation light while they wait for the clock to strike twelve. Little topics like how uncharacteristically warm it is for November and how no one has been able to conquer her Dig Dug high score at the arcade. Things like that.

“It’s almost showtime, Mayfield.” Steve leans in two minutes before midnight.

Lucas laughs, stroking her shoulder. “Still annoying that you’re older than me.”

“Oh, it shows.” Steve teases. “She’s more mature than both of us combined.”

“And she never lets us forget that either.”

“Never.”

Day 77:

The clock alerts them that it’s midnight. Both of them are holding their breath, staring hard down at Max. Watching. Waiting. Wishing for change.

A few minutes go by, but nothing happens. No difference whatsoever.

“Maybe it’ll take awhile.” Lucas says. Hope trembling in his voice.

Steve gives a half-smile. “Yeah. That could be it.”

An hour goes by.

And then another one.

By three, Steve stands up. Mainly to keep himself from falling asleep, but also, to give his nerves something to do.

“Witching hour.” Lucas states blankly. As if Steve is just supposed to know what the hell that is. Steve peers over and sees that Lucas isn’t talking to him. He’s talking to Max. “You love witching hour.”

“Is that right?”

Lucas nods. “She says it’s that time of night where her mind is most clear. Which I always found equally bizarre and cute.”

Steve chuckles, sits back down. “Why is that?”

“Witching hour is said to be the hour where ghosts and demons are most likely to… materialize.”

“Materialize?”

“Show themselves.”

The phone next to Max’s desk starts ringing as soon as those words leave Lucas’ mouth. Both of them jump in their seats, Steve’s pretty sure he mumbles something explicit and incoherent.

He picks it up so that Lucas doesn’t have to let go of Max’s hand. “Hello?”

“Just me.”

Steve sighs at the familiar voice. “Speaking of demons…”

Lucas whispers, ‘is it Eddie?’ And Steve nods, laughing a bit at the impeccable timing.

“Can’t keep your mind off me, huh?”

“Something like that.” Steve replies. “Is everything okay?”

“I saw something.” Eddie whispers. “Well, I heard something. She’s not up yet… is she?”

“Not yet, no.”

“You know the happy birthday tune I’ve been hearing?”

“Yeah?”

“It was louder tonight, more distinct.” Eddie states. “So I walked closer to Max, and it got even louder.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, man but I think… I think the song is inside the bear.”

Steve looks at the toy, tries to connect the dots. Not doing such a swell job. “You mean like a voice box or something?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Eddie yawns, the medicines must have really done him in tonight. “Just test out the theory and give me a call back, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good luck.”

“Sweet dreams.”

And the line clicks dead.

“What did he say?” Lucas jumps up, adrenaline must be kicking back in.

Steve heads toward Max’s bedside. “He thinks that song is coming from inside the bear. Does it have a button or anything?”

They carefully inspect the bear, without moving it from Max’s hold. Neither one of them notice anything resembling a button or a pull-string. Steve takes a step back, while Lucas continues to search. 

Before they left tonight, the position she needed to be in seemed weirdly important to Eddie. He made a big fuss about it, rambled for quite a long time:

‘It’s wrapped under her right arm, every damn time. Other things change, like her clothes or her hairstyle, but never her position. Always hugging that damn bear like it’s her long lost twin.’

“Hey, Sinclair. I might know what you can try.”

“I’m listening.”

Steve hopes this doesn’t come across stupid but… “I think you need to hug Max.” Okay. It sounds a little stupid, for sure. He tries to elaborate. “Well… hug Max and the bear. Eddie said she's always hugging it - that must be what’s making the song play.”

Steve bends down, pushes the green overalls to the side, just to check.

“No fucking way.” Lucas gasps, looking over Steve’s shoulder.

There it is. Right in the middle of the bear’s body, lays a red heart sticker. There’s words printed on it, but most of the lettering has faded away. Steve squints and thinks it might have said something like ‘press here.’ No way to know for sure though.

“Go ahead, Sinclair.” Steve motions for Lucas to take his place. “Hug the birthday girl.”

Lucas gulps, slowly switching spots with Steve. He glances back one more time, maybe for reassurance, which Steve gladly gives to him. Just a few pats on the back. Three times for three in the morning. The witching hour.

Max loves the witching hour.

He leans over, almost kneeling, and wraps Max into a gentle embrace. “Happy Birthday, Mad Max.” Lucas squeezes her lightly at first, then tighter. Nothing too tight, nothing that would undo all of her intricate wiring. But enough to make the song start playing.

The birthday melody is almost inaudible. The speaker inside the toy sounds extremely eroded, overused. Steve isn’t the biggest music expert, but even he can tell that it’s out of tune. All the notes are distorted and boxy. 

It’s playing though. It’s working that much.

Lucas doesn’t let go of Max the whole time. He keeps squeezing her and the bear. Steve stays incredibly still, not on purpose, just out of anticipation. Caution, too.

The last note plays out for a long time, much longer than it needs to. Steve almost wonders if it got jammed, but it eventually clicks off. Letting the room go silent. Just their heavy breathing, the air conditioning, and Max’s heart monitor.

Her heart monitor…

“Oh my god.” Steve hears it almost instantly. The change in pattern. A new tempo of beeps. Faster or maybe slowly or maybe it’s switching between the two, he’s not quite sure. But it’s definitely something…

Something new.

Almost a key change. Almost a song.

“Steve…” Lucas lifts up, keeping one hand over Max’s arm. “Something’s happening.”

The pattern changes again. It’s picking up the pace, becoming more lively.

Steve and Lucas both shift their focus to her face, her eyes. They’re still closed, but they’re moving now. They see all the rapid movements underneath her eyelids, causing her eyelashes to twitch, to flicker.

She’s still in there. She’s still in there and she’s responding.

“Get a nurse.” Lucas says urgently, never letting his focus leave Max’s face.

Steve rushes into the hallway, grabs the first nurse he can find. He’s not even sure if he forms a full sentence to her, just a jumbled mess of exclamations. But it must be enough to get his point across because she jumps into action. Pages the medical team on staff and makes a mad dash to Max’s bedside.

Within ten minutes, her room is swarmed with nurses and doctors. Her eyes begin to crack open, muscles working harder than they have in months. The monitor is getting stronger, steadier. Might be the best tonal-based arrangement Steve has ever heard in life. 

There’s a brief lull while the doctors add a few notes to her chart. Steve takes the opportunity to pull Lucas aside, tells him he’s going to fill Eddie in on the good news. Lucas is all smiles, waving Steve off. Steve is all smiles too as he jogs up the stairs.

Max is waking up, there’s no reason for any other expression to occupy his face at this time. Smiling is the only appearance that seems suitable for this sort of occasion.

That’s the philosophy circling Steve’s mind when he gets to Eddie’s room, and it immediately vanishes at the sight of Eddie sobbing in his bed.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” Steve hops onto the creaky edge, pulling his sweater sleeve over his hand to rub away all the tears and snot. It’s fucking gross, but Steve can’t process anything besides comfort right now. Gross shit is secondary to sadness.

But… Eddie’s not sad. He’s laughing. He’s still sobbing, but he’s laughing too. What the hell? Steve is fucking baffled.

Eddie grabs Steve’s drippy sleeves and waves his arms wildly before placing Steve’s hands over his tear-stained cheeks.

“It all came back,” Eddie chokes out, smiling through his sniffles. “All of it. Every last pesky memory.” He moves Steve’s hands from his cheeks to his temples. “It’s all right here, Steve. I remember it all.”

Oh. Oh fuck.

Steve keeps his hands there, bringing Eddie’s face forward to kiss him madly. His lips are extra wet, everything tastes a bit salty from all the teardrops. They’re kissing with the damn door still open, but fuck anyone who dares Steve to remove his lips from Eddie ‘Unabridged Edition’ Munson.

They’re laughing and kissing and mopping up tears with mouths and tongues and Steve’s sleeve yet again. 

Steve brings their foreheads together, feels more powerful now that they’re on the same page, memory-wise. He’s fucking elated, can hear it every damn word he utters. “When? How? When? When?”

Eddie sniffs again, kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth. “A few minutes into the devil’s hour.”

“Is that different from the witching hour?”

“No, Stevie, they’re the same thing.” Eddie’s forehead wrinkles, his face is blotchy from all the crying. “Color me impressed that you know what the witching hour is.”

Steve gets up to shut the door, lock it, anything to avoid the explanation on how he just learned what the witching hour is - thanks to Max’s obsession with it. “Wait… shortly after you called me?”

“Not long after that, yeah.” Eddie finally blows his nose into an actual tissue this time. “I would’ve called, but I’ve been a blubbery mess ever since. It’s just…”

“Overwhelming?”

“Very. A fucking monsoon of emotions.”

Steve dries the last few tears off of Eddie’s face. “Do you think Max waking up helped unlock the rest of your memories?”

He recalls Eddie’s birdcage tattoo, rephrasing the question. “Like maybe, you were both trapped somewhere else? Somewhere less -”

“Less normal? Supernatural, maybe?”

Steve has flashbacks of red lightning bolts and floating ash particles everywhere. “Yeah. That.”

“Feels like it, yeah.” Eddie nods slowly, still processing probably. “Almost like we needed each other to shut down the whole system. Break free.”

“Escape.” Steve touches Eddie’s side, right where the tattoo is located.

“Exactly.” Eddie grins. “We escaped.”

“Fucking wow.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Steve Harrington.”

Steve crosses his legs on the bed, fully facing Eddie. They stare at each other for a moment, before Eddie tackles Steve with a hug. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, laughing at the abruptness. Not complaining though. Steve would never complain about receiving an Eddie Tackle Hug.

However, an unwanted fear, similar to the one he had last night, enters the forefront of his mind.

Eddie remembers everything now, even the bad shit. He probably remembers Steve being the ultimate shithead in high school. He also probably remembers Steve having a massive crush on Nancy Wheeler just a few months ago. 

Steve slips out of the hug, shrinking into his stupid fears. “Does this change anything?”

“Like what?”

“About…” Steve gestures over himself. Tries to play it off like it’s no big deal, but it is. Masking that is impossible.

“About you?” Eddie scoffs, taking Steve’s hand. He deliberately rubs his thumb over Steve’s left index finger, where Steve used to wear his class ring - the same one that’s sitting over Eddie’s chest, next to his guitar pick. 

“My naive little Stevie boy. You think that I, a mere mortal who used to wait around Starcourt Mall for hours to catch a glimpse of your impeccable backside, would just be over you like that? Please. Be serious.”

“Okay.” Steve un-shrinks himself, gets stuck in Eddie’s shimmery eyes because he can. “Just checking.”

“Well if you’re just checking, let me help you get a more thorough analysis.” Eddie is the one in Steve’s lap this time, tongue going straight down Steve’s throat. It’s fucking predatory, the way Eddie’s kissing him. Way too dirty right away. 

Minutes earlier, Eddie was bawling his eyes out and now he’s actively trying to tongue-fuck Steve in a goddamn hospital. Patients are probably coughing up blood two doors down, but here they are - panting and getting hard just from licking into each other’s mouths. It’s sick and demented, but so is all the bullshit they’ve put up with this year. 

An eye for an eye, or whatever those bearded proverbs say.

Steve keeps his hands gripped over Eddie’s hips, twisting at the material of his sweatpants. He knows that he’s being noisy now. Every time Eddie grinds the slightest bit over his thigh, he’s moaning, chanting Eddie’s name like a slutty hymn. If they don’t slow this the fuck down, Steve’s sweater won’t be the only damp article of clothing amongst them.

“Driving me crazy here, Munson.” Steve grits his teeth, stays as quiet as possible which somehow makes the pleasure hit harder when Eddie nibbles on his ear.

“Like you this way.” Eddie snarls, blows into Steve’s ear this time.

Steve does a full-body shiver, wants to fucking ride off of that motion, but no way. Not here. Not in the godforsaken medical inferno. Absolutely not. 

He releases his grip on Eddie’s sweatpants, cracking his knuckles. “Can we like… not let the first time we fuck be in a head trauma ward?”

“You mean to tell me you don’t find the smell of formaldehyde to be a turn-on?”

“Quite the opposite actually.”

Eddie tries to bribe Steve with massages so that he can stay in his lap. He promises to be on his best behavior, but Steve isn’t a complete moron. Eddie’s Best Behavior, is still naughty, still vulgar as all fuck.

He makes a big scene out of it, collapsing onto his pillows, complaining how cold he is to no longer be in the arms of a ‘real man.’

Such a weirdo. Steve loves it.

“Do you want this back?” Eddie flips Steve’s ring over the chain around his neck.

Steve shrugs, shaking his head. “You should keep it.”

Eddie continues to fiddle with the chain. His shoulders drop, settling into their natural position. “But you don’t need the visual indicator anymore. I’m not gonna forget.”

They can say that word now. Forget. It no longer holds the same power over them. 

“I know you won’t.” Steve stops Eddie’s fidgety fingers from clanking the ring against the chain anymore. He keeps their hands pressed together, resting on top of their two charms. 

“I want you to wear it to remember instead.”

One month later…

Unlike the weirdly warm November, Hawkins is having a freakishly cold December. Steve dresses in layers to begin, but the extra-puffy jackets and hair-flattening beanies are concealing some of his best assets.

This wouldn’t be such a mega bummer, except it’s Eddie’s first day out of the hospital. So Steve is losing his shit that this is how Eddie is going to see him for the first time in months. Out in the wild. On a fucking date.

A real date, not a hospital-adaptation of a date. A real one. One that Eddie insisted on planning out entirely, start to finish. Refusing to tell Steve a goddamn detail about it.

They’re meeting in the Hawkins High School parking lot, right after sunset. Eddie is celebrating his homecoming with Wayne during the day, before his shift at the plant. Steve keeps the heat on when he parks, mainly because he’s expecting Eddie to be fashionably late. The guy’s never been known for his punctuality, neither has Steve though.

Steve listens to three and a half songs on the radio by the times Eddie’s van screeches into the parking lot, braking way too fucking close to Steve’s car. Several months in a hospital bed has made his already dismal driving skills even worse. He turns down the radio and watches Eddie slip out of his van. 

It’s dazzling, seeing Eddie outside, back in his preferred attire. Steve feels dazzled. One time, Steve spotted Ralph Macchio on the sidewalks of Indianapolis, was totally starstruck by him.

Eddie Munson has the same effect, only much much better. Cause Steve gets to kiss Eddie and mark up his neck like he’s a fucking coloring book.

Eddie thumps his row of silvery rings on the window, breaking Steve’s dazzle-induced trance. Steve smiles, rolls the window down halfway.

“Cold much?” Eddie grimaces at Steve’s heavy coat. Immediately knocks off his stupid beanie.

“It’s the middle of winter.”

“Guess I’ll need to warm you up then.” Eddie unzips a small portion of Steve’s jacket. “Get you out of these ridiculous clothes.” He sticks his cold fucking hand into Steve’s shirt, against his bare chest.

“Jesus!” It’s so cold that Steve’s teeth start chattering at the contact. “See - I think you’re just using the weather as an excuse to get me naked.”

“I’m always looking for a reason to get you naked.”

Steve rolls the window down the rest of the way. “Well the joke’s on you then, babe. You don’t need a reason.”

“No?”

“Nope. I’m a sure thing.” Steve kisses him, gets his hand on his leather jacket, decides right away that he likes this material way more than the gauzy cotton on those hospital gowns.

Eddie playfully chomps at the tip of Steve’ nose, a weird little habit he’s formed over the last month. It never fails to make Steve snort with laughter. “That sounds a lot like something a hometown slut would say.”

“The one and only.”

As soon as Eddie gets in the car, he’s begging to drive it to the secret date location. Steve would rather gnaw off his non-dominant hand than let Eddie Munson drive his precious baby around town. He’s crazy about the guy but not that crazy.

“Just give me the directions and I’ll drive us there.”

“No fun.” Eddie stomps the floorboard. 

Steve clicks his fingernails over the buckle on Eddie’s belt. “I think I’m very fun.”

“Fucking drive, you tease.” Eddie groans, reluctantly moves Steve’s hand back to the steering wheel.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to figure out where Eddie is taking them, Steve catches on after the second left turn. 

“The library?” Steve questions at the stoplight. “It’s past six, there’s no fucking way the library will be open.” Besides, why the fuck would he want to go on a study date with a guy painted in leather?

Eddie doesn’t respond, just keeps navigating and humming along to whatever Billy Idol song is playing on the radio.

Steve parks in the corner of the library lot, just in case this is all a ploy to get them somewhere dark and alone. Eddie might just want secluded car sex, and Steve would not complain at all if that’s the big surprise. 

Clearly that’s not the surprise, because Eddie skips to the front doors, messing around with the lock.

Steve hurries after him. “You wanna get us arrested on our first real date? That’s your idea of romance?”

“I’ve been in white-walled prison for the last seven months.” Eddie takes the bobby pin that’s in between his wicked grin, jiggles it into the lock a few times, gets it open with ease. “Let me earn my troublemaker title back, okay?”

He spits the bobby pin onto the ground and swings open the door. Steve doesn’t know why his thigh muscles clench at the aggressive spitting action, but fuck, it happens. Definitely not an innocent reflex, that’s for damn sure.

Once inside, Eddie takes Steve’s hand, guides him through a maze of bookshelves. If Steve had been a brighter pupil in school, he may know where they are headed, what section they will end up at. But he skimmed through most classes, only gave his full attention to the subjects that piqued his interest (which weren't many, especially not ones of practical use). 

“Here.” Eddie motions down to an aisle with empty shelves. There’s three books stacked together at the end of the corridor, along with a few candles. There’s probably some unspoken law amongst librarians that candles should never cross the threshold of library, although Steve doubts Eddie gives a fuck about library laws - or any legal system for that matter. 

It’s dark and warm, streams of smoke coming off the illegal candlelight. Steve takes a few steps closer to examine the books under the dim flames. Reads each title on the bindings.

“You didn’t.” Steve peers over at Eddie.

“I sure did.”

They’re Eddie’s literary references, the ones used to describe his varying moods in the hospital. Taming of the Shrew, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and Beowulf.

“What the hell did you do with all the other books?”

Eddie shrugs, slides his hands into his front pockets. “They’re safe.”

Fucking suspicious. “That’s not reassuring at all.”

“It's not?” Eddie invades Steve’s space. “This isn't reassuring?”

Eddie kisses Steve’s neck, pulls him in by the waist. Steve peels off his stupid puffy jacket so goddamn fast. He naturally lets his arms drape over Eddie’s shoulders, allows himself to get dizzy in his heated touch, soft lips. His hands meet at the base of Eddie’s neck, clawing all up his scalp. Steve can feel Eddie’s muscles tighten, exhaling into the kisses across Steve’s collarbone.

“So, what am I today?” Eddie whispers.

“Hmm?” Steve’s listening abilities are hazy from the wandering touches. Not comprehending thoughts so well anymore. Not like this.

“Kathy?” Eddie pecks Steve’s left cheek. “Hyde?” Then his right. “Grendel?” Then the bridge of Steve’s nose, before biting it like he always does now.

Steve feels seduced - at least, he thinks this is what seduction feels like. Usually he’s the one doing the whole Mrs. Robinson routine, he’s not used to being Dustin Hoffman in the seduction scenario.

He trudges through the dreamlike fog that Eddie has constructed in his mind, finds a way to reclaim sobriety in this moment.

“Which one is it?”

“How about…” Steve takes a deep breath. Kisses Eddie on the lips and pulls away. “How about boyfriend?”

Eddie’s nails dig into Steve’s back, clutching way too hard.

“Would that title work?” Steve asks, only a small inkling of doubt seeping into his confidence. 

Eddie stops digging, his forehead un-wrinkles, his gaze becomes gentle. He takes Steve’s hands into his own, just dangling between them and finally smiles.

“Boyfriend works.” Eddie answers - the smile turns into a dopey grin. “As long as you’re cool with sharing titles.”

Steve looks at Eddie’s chain necklace and nods. “Sure. We can share.”

They stay like this for a while, Steve only notices the passage of time from the dripping wax over the candles. The flame is getting weaker, the room is getting darker. They stay the same. They stay grounded. Steve’s not in any rush to move or stop spewing mushy nonsense back and forth with Eddie, but he’s aware. He’s aware that the rest of the world is keeping a schedule, while they quietly riot against Time altogether.

Eddie is the one that eventually breaks the frozen moment. “We haven’t seen my favorite section of the library yet.”

“Oh really?” Steve’s voice is rich and buttery from the pure swooning he’s been doing all evening. “Are you planning to burn that section down with your pyromaniac tendencies as well?”

“You’ll just have to see for yourself.” Eddie blows out the candles and starts dragging Steve away once again.

They jog up two flights of stairs, race to the fire exit, and wind up at a sketchy looking ladder. Eddie doesn’t hesitate, starts climbing, skipping every other wrung.

“What the living hell, Munson?” Steve doesn’t even know why he’s whisper-screaming, but he is.

Eddie bangs his fist at the top, cracking open the square-ish door on the ceiling. He looks back down at Steve with a crazed expression. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of heights.”

“No, just…” Confused. Steve’s often in a state of confusion though, so what’s fucking new? “Out of the way. Coming up.” 

Eddie hoists himself up and disappears. Steve lets out a string of swears, still whisper-screaming as he climbs. When he gets to the top of the roof, he sees Eddie sitting directly in the center. He’s looking up at the stars, seems happy. Seems alive. Free.

There’s a grocery bag beside him, rustling in the night breeze. Steve smooths out his jeans and joins Eddie on the ground. Or roof. Roof-ground. Whatever the fuck people call it.

Steve is about to snoop through the bag, when Eddie grabs something from behind his back, cradles it against his chest. “This is my favorite book. Right here.”

Steve squints his eyes, but it’s hard to see the binding in the dark. “The Hobbit?”

“No.” Eddie leans in for a quick kiss. “But it’s so fucking sexy that you’d guess that.”

He holds the book flat out in both palms, offering it to Steve, who realizes it’s not a book at all. It’s a binder.

Eddie’s Memory Log binder.

“Did you…” Steve takes the binder, trembles from his sudden nerves. “Did you read this?”

“Every page.”

Fuck. Steve is fully embarrassed now. Yes, Eddie has seen him writing shit down in this for months, but parts of it are personal. Some pages are less about the notes, and more about how Eddie made Steve feel. It’s like someone just told Steve they published his goddamn diary (which he does not have a diary, fucking gross).

“I actually added some notes.” Eddie flips the cover open. “You should take a look.”

On the first page, next to this bullet:

• Eddie doesn’t remember he has a sense of humor.

Eddie has scribbled in tiny lettering:

• Not true - you’re just not as funny as you think you are, Steve Harrington.

Next to this note of Day 5:

• Eddie remembers Grease? (Of all the movies Steve thought this guy would reference… Grease? Is it the leather? Hm.)

Eddie had added:

• First of all, I will poison your stupid grape sodas if you ever tell anybody I like Grease. And second… of course, it’s the leather. And Frenchie is comedy GOLD, obviously.

On Steve’s corner-note on Day 38 that says:

• Eddie notices Steve’s ass…

Eddie has edited to say:

• Eddie notices touched Steve’s ass…(as of Day 72. Put in the history books, folks. Teach the kiddies about this in schools across America).

There’s so many random notes, Eddie manages to fit them on the busiest of progress days. Steve flips further along before Eddie stops him, picks out a specific page.

Day 66.

The day where Steve stapled Eddie’s card to the page.

The day where Steve wrote this:

• Robin was right. Definitely think I’m falling for him.

Eddie has added his note underneath, in dark red ink:

• That’s good. Because he’s definitely falling for you too.

Steve looks up, almost gets a head rush from moving so fast. Eddie seems nervous too. For once in his life, he seems to be reconsidering his boldness.

“Are my rewrites okay?” Eddie snags the binder back, sets it to the side so he can scoot in closer.

“Hell yeah.” Steve closes the gap, leans in for another kiss.

“Good. Because now I have bad news.”

“What?”

“I lied. I didn’t get back from the hospital today.” 

Steve’s stomach drops. “You didn’t?”

“I got back yesterday.”

“Why would you lie about that?”

“So I could get this done and surprise you.” Eddie lifts his leather jacket and undershirt to reveal his side, his rib cage. He still has some bandages from the hospital in certain areas. However, Eddie has clear wrapping in one spot. Steve bends forward to examine the markings.

It’s a tattoo. A bird tattoo, the bird on the opposite side of the broken cage, escaping its enclosure. Free like Eddie. It’s the same one he planned on getting after graduation. But… he didn’t graduate. Not necessarily.

“Felt like I still deserved to get it, ya know?” Eddie says, shaking a bit from the cold. “After all, I did escape death… and that damn hospital room. It still works.”

Steve nods, fights the urge to touch it because he knows it’s probably still sore. “What kind of bird is it?”

“A canary.”

Steve studies the tattoo even closer, a sideways smirk creeps up on his face. “Is it… yellow?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie quickly lowers his shirt and jacket back down. “But the least vomit-inducing yellow they had available.”

“Did you get this bird for me?” 

“Absolutely not.” Eddie says, very defensive. “I’m not a trashy white girl who drunkenly gets a tattoo at her bachelorette party.” 

“Got it.”

Eddie pauses, hesitates. “You may have helped inspire the color choice though.”

“I see.” Steve is so fucking glad that it’s dark outside because he knows he’s flushed. Can feel the blood spreading all over his face.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.” Steve is able to say it this time. Means it. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Eddie grabs Steve’s hand, kisses the spot where his class ring used to reside. “Would be a complete idiot not to fall in love with you, Steve Harrington.”

Saying it isn’t terrifying. Hearing it isn’t alarming his flight senses. All the usual declaration jitters have departed. Packed up and left town. 

Maybe it’s because there’s a clarity over their relationship that Steve has never had before. A clarity that is only obtained by coming face-to-face with Death so many times. Eddie is alive, Max is awake. Why would three little words scare Steve when he almost lost them both?

And besides, Eddie isn’t going to forget that he’s in love with Steve. That Steve loves him back. That’s no longer something they have to worry about either. Yeah, the world may be an apocalyptic fuckshow, but Eddie’s memory is sublime. Never forgets a goddamn thing anymore.

Looks like Steve’s wish came true in that regard. He really is un-fucking-forgettable.

“What’s in the bag?” Steve takes a peak, can’t see shit in the dark though.

“Our dinner.”

“You made me dinner?” Steve isn’t sure how he’ll politely decline Eddie’s food. He may have fought monsters with homemade weapons, but he’s certainly not brave enough to eat something prepared by a dude that considers Vienna sausages to be gourmet.

“I bought dinner.”

Thank god. 

“What’s on the menu?”

“For me? Lo mein. For you…” Eddie pulls out two separate containers and winks. “Kung Pao Chicken.”

Steve smiles, positively beams at his boyfriend. He takes the container and plastic silverware, digs right in. He takes a big bite, watches Eddie’s goofy, lovestruck expression while he chews.

“What do you think?” Eddie seems eager for his approval.

Steve doesn’t keep him waiting. He swallows his bite and answers Eddie the same way he did many months ago. “Excellent choice.”

“The food?”

“The food, the date, the guy.” Steve reaches out to hold Eddie’s hand, knotting their fingers together. Once a gesture of helpless support. Now meaning exactly what Steve says out loud:

“Everything.”

It means absolutely everything.